As Told by a Jock
by Pollux Unbound
Summary: GrimmIchi AU Grimmjow's POV. I'm the captain and quarterback of my school's football team. I'm a jock, a hearthrob and a jerk, above all. But one day my mother tells me, "Grimmjow, I'm marrying Dr. Kurosaki." Just like that, I have an orange-haired stepbrother. Then, for some reason, incest no longer sounds so bad to me... UlquiStarrk
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach. This is also very much Eyeshield 21-inspired, which means I took out a LOT of ideas from that brilliant manga. It then follows that originality is NOWHERE to be seen on this shit. I repeat, this is highly unoriginal.

_**A/N**: Well, what do you know. Here I go again writing whatever crap that comes to mind. I am aware that other people have come up with GrimmIchi step/half-brother plot before. I, however, haven't read any of them. Perhaps I will, one of these days, should time permit. Thus said, I will try to make this as original as I can manage, as far as other fics are concerned. Anyway, this happens to be one of those random, unconcluded fics I started writing two or more years ago, out of boredom. It's been in my PC for that long now. I figured I might as well upload it before the GrimmIchi fandom dies. And it's dying, really. To move on, I intend this to be the LAST GrimmIchi multi-chapter fanfic I'll ever write. After this, I'm done, promise :D Lastly, this will contain MATURE themes later on. Yep, this is to entreat minors to NOT bother with this piece of crap._

_..._

Chapter One: The Stepbrother

…

My athletic capabilities, notable as they were, were constantly subject to one evaluation or another. Tonight, a pamphlet arrived on the mailbox from Coach Kensei Muruguma. Securing myself at the far end of the room, I read through its contents. What I processed was merely a summary of my and the rest of the team's statistics as per evaluation results of the National Federation of Pre-collegiate Athletic Association. Contents went as:

_**Grimmjow Jaggerjack Azuma **__(Team captain), Nagano Gakuen Panthers, Senior, Jersey #6, Quarterback_

_Power / Tackle: B+_

_Agility / Speed: A_

_Endurance : B+_

_Technique: A+_

_Leadership: A+_

As shown here, I was a top-class and versatile athlete by high school standards. My position, QB, carried a certain prestige which meant that, among my teammates, I was the one who stood out the most. Except for my regrettable reliability as a pep-talker for my team, my stats pretty much spoke of what my superiority was imposing. My eyes then went on to skim the rest of my teammates' stats, but only two of them were worth my remembrance.

_**Omaeda Marechiyo **__(Vice captain), Nagano Gakuen Panthers, Senior, Jersey #2, Center_

_Power / Tackle: A+_

_Agility / Speed: D_

_Endurance : A+_

_Technique: C_

_Leadership: D_

_**Hisagi Shuhei**__, Nagano Gakuen Panthers, Sophomore, Jersey #69, Running Back / Safety_

_Power / Tackle: B_

_Agility / Speed: __**S**_

_Endurance : A_

_Technique: A+_

_Leadership: B+_

I was called the 'Jaguar King', as an allusion to my team's mascot and my post as team captain. Hisagi was known as the 'Cheetah' because of his speed, while Marechiyo was nicknamed 'Liger' due to his size. Now, having more than one A-ranked skill or higher on your record would, in most cases, render you worth recruiting, as far as college scouts were concerned. However, no college talent manager on the sports department had rung my freaking doorbell. Why? Because they were too busy breaking their necks dialing Hisagi Shuhei's landline. Should one take a closer look at the bastard's skills table, his speed was ranked 'S', which more or less meant he could outrun even the fucking captain of the track team on any given day. And, by the way, 'S' stood for 'Special level of skill', therefore all other letters had nothing on it. Although my and Hisagi's overall skills were quite on par with one another, he was a fucking sophomore while I was a senior.

Somewhat dejected, I focused my attention instead on my mother's recent life-altering decision. She probably had enough determination in her to scale a mountain. Pointedly, I did warn her, as what my so-called friend, Ulquiorra, had advised, if only to prevent an impending fiasco,

"Mother, for fuck's sake, you do not need another husband."

"Son, that's not the proper way to talk to me."

And the discussion ended right then and there. If her decisions didn't affect me in the least, I would, say, be more than willing to shove her down the aisle myself, to ultimately give her away to whoever. But her fucking decisions lately had been dismantling my life. In her life, she had obliged many well-intended pieces of advice, but turning down an untimely marriage proposal wasn't going to be one of them. Indeed, six years ago, she had got on with this seldom-sober bag of douche whose one great offense had resulted to the conception of my little half-brother. Moving on, I couldn't help but mumble,

"Mistakes, mistakes, fucking mistakes. Repeat the process and welcome to your life."

"I'd appreciate it if you treated me nicely."

Without heeding her, I rose to my feet, thereby marking the elevation of my spot on the assholes' general rankings. But walk that aisle she would, come hell or high water.

"Whatfuckingever."

"Well, be sure to wear your best suit tonight. Dinner with the Kurosaki family at eight at Red Crab."

The asshole that I was barely made a gesture of assent to his mother's biddings. Because I was skipping football practice for tonight's shitty arrangements, I was pissed to hell as it was. As a matter of fact, my ears had nearly bled when Coach Kensei had screamed at me upon learning I had had to leave early. And to think I was fucking quarterback and team captain, the humiliation was tremendous.

It wasn't an easy step to start taking risks in that direction, that was, pissing my mother off deliberately, but then I had more right than anyone else to demand answers from this woman who called herself my mother. While the reality of my being her flesh and blood could be repeatedly ascertained by pitting us together side by side, there also was no contesting her inability to raise children. For starters, I was eighteen, and she was thirty-five. Do the math, and seventeen was barely an appropriate age to get yourself knocked up by some shameless son of a gun. To top this off, no one knew who my father was, with the possible exception of herself. And, out of all the dirty secrets she chose to refuse to tell me, one of them was the identity of my father—as chance would have it. So forgive me if I believed I was given all the reason in the world to hate her to a certain extent.

And now I shut myself in my room, feeling impelled to rummage my wardrobe or drop Ulquiorra a call. I opted for the former, since the bastard never answered phone calls unless Starrk's name was the one that registered itself on the fucking screen. At that, I was left to contemplate things further. To be quite honest, the comfort we were living in had always been a puzzle to me. My mother had never stayed long enough in any given job to secure more than two paychecks, and not once had we ever gone broke. I was sure she would no longer pass as a viable prostitute—not that I ever entertained that type of thoughts.

To move on, I hauled one of my gorgeous suits out the closet. It was a grey Armani. Coupled by a matching pair of trousers and a red tie, the ensemble could very well produce a dashing prick out of me. And yet looking at it only compounded my frustration.

…

Tap, tap, tap.

The clumsy series of knocks issuing from my door pretty much spoke of the identity of the person who wished to bug me in the middle of my game. Well, this fucking boss fight was only good for slaughtering my witless squad anyway.

"Szayel, what the hell is it this time?"

"Lemme in!" My five-year old little brother was almost screaming. That brat sure had to know what required urgency and its opposite. I bet you a million yen he simply meant to ask me to grab the cookie jar on top of the fridge. If he was to demand a task more complex than that, I'd slit my fucking throat.

So I unlocked my door to find a sight that could've sent a battalion of girls squealing. As for me, none of it was out of line with the usual showcase of good looks helplessly prevailing in this house. Szayel, the little brat, was a sight to behold. With what cuteness bespectacled five-year olds were equipped with, he could soon be seen skirting roadside billboard advertisements. All the same, the very neat miniature coat and tie suit he was wearing now imparted an annoying, unnecessary restriction to hug the little runt and ruffle his hair here and now.

"Well, your hair looks stupid." I teased.

His combed-back pink locks appeared to me a perplexing choice. If it had been up to me, I'd tie his hair back in a neat pony tail to complete a heavy-metal rock star look.

"You're the thtupid. You're not yet dressth."

That prompted me to consult my wall clock. It was already half past seven in the evening, which meant I had approximately fifteen minutes to take a shower and put on my evening regalia.

"Oh, shoot." I traipsed over my wardrobe in an uninhibited haste, with the nagging, never-ending sense that I was simply troubling myself to please my mother and her whims. Before I locked myself in the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of my brother nabbing my PS3 controller, and in that action the fate of my Black Ops campaign was sealed. I just wished he wouldn't drool on my controller this time.

…

By the time we arrived at the venue, the digits on the dashboard were flashing thirty minutes past eight. If anyone was willing to comment on my family's lack of regard to punctuality, I'd probably chip in a few incriminating additions for explanation. But, as it was, Dr. Kurosaki wasn't the type who'd do his nuts upon something like this. In any case, he was waiting on the portico of the restaurant when mother caught sight of him, and, at that, she delegated Szayel into my arms as if the runt had no means of getting on the frickin' ground with both feet. Naturally, I heaved him down, whereby he toddled after mother.

"Doctor, I want you to meet my babies. Grimmjow, if you please." Mother was exercising the garish, extravagant charm she was known for, leaving Dr. Kurosaki smiling at her. Well, I could admit she was looking exceptionally beautiful tonight, if I might be permitted a compliment. Moving on, this prompted me to take a hand out my pocket and to hold it out to the man. While it happened, I evinced neither a smile nor a gesture of affability.

"Good to meet you, young man."

"And this here is my youngest, Szayel." My mother prodded the kid by the shoulder and pushed him gently toward the doctor. So here a few matters got clear on the onset, all for easy understanding; where you found a hard-to-please teen like me, you'd find a complete incongruence of characters in his little brother. And so Szayel was beaming like a fucking cherub, all to displace any such praise which might have been originally reserved for me. Not that I gave one damned hoot.

"What a dazzling boy you are. How old are you, little buddy?"

"I jutht turned five, sthir."

"Ho ho. You may call me uncle." Dr. Kurosaki placed a palm over Szayel's head and turned to my mother, "Shall we?"

Within seconds, the doctor found himself ushering us to the table where two individuals were awaiting us. I believed mother had mentioned Dr. Kurosaki also had a son besides a couple of young girls. But now there were only two girls to be seen. They both looked ordinary. It made me feel better, alright, though not nearly better enough to warrant giving a damn. At the sight of little Szayel, however, both gave the little boy a look of approval.

"You didn't mention your girls are this pretty." Mother told the doctor. "But where is Ichigo-kun?"

Yeah. I remembered. The teen was called Ichigo. Strawfuckingberry. Well, it wasn't like my name wasn't stupid-sounding to warrant me an insulting remark or two. Anyway, the bloke was nowhere to be seen.

"He went to the wash room." One of the girls explained.

Just then, a voice was heard behind me.

"Hello."

Mother and the doctor turned their heads toward that someone who was none other than this Ichigo.

"There you are, son. This is the lovely lady I've been talking about. Ms. Azuma. And these are her two sons."

Still rooted to my spot, not turning around to avail myself a glimpse of this Ichigo, I deduced mother was hugging the boy, after which she introduced the lad to my bro. And all this was happening while, what, I was standing there, fists stuffed in pockets like a bored devil who knew not how to make himself useful? In time, I heard my mother,

"This is my eldest. I believe you are in high school now."

"I'm in my freshman year, ma'am."

"Oh, that makes you two years younger than my Grimmjow." She then turned to me. "Grimmjow, Ichigo-kun wants to say 'hi'."

When I finally swiveled my pompous ass, I learned I towered over him by a considerable difference. He was a little less than half a head shorter, which wasn't bad for a sixteen-year old, considering I was six feet and one inch in height. His posture was a fine piece of work and, to complement that, his built was rather slender, his legs long. Like mine, the suit he was wearing was remindful of some celebrity awards event. But, unlike me, he managed to force himself a cordial smile.

"Hi."

"Yoh."

He extended an arm, which I took out of courtesy, other than my desire to steer clear of my mother's nagging. Well, it did help that his general appearance wasn't shrinking in comparison to mine. As a matter of fact, I would even venture to say he wasn't bad-looking and that his brown eyes were somewhat pleasant to look at. Of course, there was no possibility a model scouting agency would pick him over me, not even on his best days. Still…

"Er, we can let go now." He muttered, indicating something below us, to which I looked down.

I was still clasping the hand he had offered me… Just what in bloody fuck was I thinking? Never mind. It was just a fucking lapse in my consciousness, if nothing else. Besides, I was merely showing the kind of awareness to details I had been begging people to demonstrate. If this young Kurosaki couldn't buy that shit then the choice to be a cynical prick was always his.

And so dinner commenced just as planned, with no favorable results nor grave consequences as far as I could tell. This, however, didn't mean I succeeded for the most part in restraining my scowls. At one point, though, the conversation took a better turn, for here was the doctor, saying,

"I heard you've been elected captain of Nagano High School's football team, Grimmjow-kun. Ichigo here, likewise, is varsity member of Karakura High School Football team."

Karakura High School was situated right outside the Kanto region, somewhere at the southern mouth of the Tohoku region. Nagano High School, on the other hand, lay on the northern boundary of Kanto, which meant both academies were well within commuting distance of each other. But I perused the bloke, to allow my mental process to come to its natural conclusion. He did look athletic, though his built was rather light. But I could care less about him because, in Karakura Gakuen Football Team, there existed a player who stood high above his contemporaries. Or so the hype said. In any case, you could say this other quarterback was _more _skilled than I was, maybe even by a long shot.

"So Ginjo Kugo, my _nemesis_, is your new captain." I referred to the superb quarterback, looking at Ichigo straight in the eyes. Yes, now that last year's MVP, the quarterback Asuka Katakura, had graduated, the title of the best high school QB in Japan now lay somewhere well within reach of Karakura's new captain.

Mild confusion was the expression he assumed next, as far as my observation went. In the succeeding moment he clarified,

"Oh. There seems to be a misunderstanding. I'm varsity member of the European Football Team, or soccer, as it is more popularly known; not American Football."

Just as I thought. This dude was never cut out for real sports. Having observed that much, I found my mouth preceding me,

"Lame."

"…"

"…"

Doctor Kurosaki was watching us both in obvious fascination, while in front of him mother was looking quite wiped out. She was about to open her mouth, to maybe reprimand the shit out of me, but Ichigo intercepted, his smile misplaced if anything,

"Well, I can't blame you for that notion. American Football is so full of physical contact it makes any other sport look…gay. Whatever the case, Kugo-sempai is, in fact, the new captain of the Karakura Gakuen American Football Team. We—I mean all of us Karakura students—are looking forward to his _inevitable _MVP award before the American Football Inter-High Tournament season ends." He was almost sneering as he said this. What nerves.

"We'll see about that." was my response. I said it out of pure cheek and nothing else. Ginjo Kugo was now incontestably the best quarterback in the league, no questions about that. In fact, to declare otherwise would be the same as trying to upset a concrete truth.

"We will. So is your Kicker coming back? I heard he had been legendary before he quit."

Seemed like the brat was also a fan of American Football, which suited me just fine. Because he was a soccer dude, he had to be interested in the kicking aspect of gridiron football, right? The subject on which he chose to focus his interest, however, harped me. More than being a handicap, the lack of a kicker and a punter in my team was the sort of deficiency from which it was hard to recover. If only a_ certain _bastard would come back to the team…

I smirked like a devil, for some unholy reason. But from hereon I proceeded to exercise my control over my fucking mouth and refrained from trash-talking the brat. Perhaps it was even safe to say I enjoyed the evening on account of the topic of conversation.

Well…that night, when I laid down to bed, I couldn't sleep a fucking wink, couldn't stop thinking of a pair of brown eyes.

**TBC**

**A/N**: Katakura Asuka is a member of Gotei 13's Third Division. I believe he is seated 6th. Well, at first I thought he was a girl because Asuka, from what I recall, is a girl's name. I will not use OC's for the athletes as there are plenty of available characters in Bleach. Anyway, I decided to give Grimmjow his mother's surname to emphasize he has no father.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: My Jet-black Heart

…

As revealed earlier, my mother was intent on tying the knot with the geezer no matter what. No matter fucking what, I repeat. The best explanation she could offer me was, she was tired of being left alone and being treated badly by men. Whether or not she realized that marrying was one hundred percent NOT the answer to this sort of dilemma, none could tell. But, at any rate, all that was left of her faculties, as it turned out, was her determination to marry Ishiin Kurosaki.

The civil ceremony took place right after my team's trial/practice match against a relatively strong team in the same region, Kanto. This team was the Juujika Gakuen Bullets. In the city hall, my brother and I plus Ichigo and his twin sisters were the key witnesses to the everlasting bullshit vow. Since I, together with my loser teammates, had lost the fucking practice game earlier on, whatever comfort I might have availed myself throughout the so-called wedding could perhaps be traced from the fact that it was briefer and simpler than I expected. In the end, however, it occurred to me that this little ceremony was no more than the tip of the iceberg. Soon, the newly pronounced man and wife would have to move in with each other, if only to adhere to the conventions of society, and with them should come their children, which included… me.

For me, the whole issue of having to crash into a house full of strangers was secondary to the moral aspect of the whole affair. At any rate, it was around seven o' clock then, one day after her wedding, when she walked into my room while I was grudgingly watching the replay of the accursed practice match my team had just lost. My soreness went as bad as to fasten my eyes on the fucking footage, which was currently showing how the Bullets' sophomore Linebacker, whose name was Renji Abarai, tackled the shit out of Hisagi. Well, Renji Abarai was said to be the strongest Linebacker in Kanto so maybe this time I could forgive my teammate. All the same, I couldn't tell why I went on to repeatedly watch the stupid game footage. Perhaps my imagination went as far as to have myself expecting we'd win if I rolled in the footage for like twenty times or so. But I heard my mother say,

"I know it's difficult for you, Grimmy, but you and Szayel need a father."

"Correction: you need a husband."

She simply failed, without allusion to anything else, to understand. She failed to understand that my brother and I had been faring along perfectly fine with how things had gone on—until she had decided to pledge herself to someone. Hadn't I been living my life without ever getting to know whose sperm it was that fucking converted her egg to the human that was me?

"Son, understand that I'm still young. The fact is, I managed single-handedly to raise you just fine because you were mostly alone during your childhood. And now Szayel is growing up. My hands are full, as things are."

If this happened to be the best argument she could come up with, screw it, I'd quit being her son as soon I get a decent job. Moreover, her delusions of having raised me just fine was irking me. Just fine? I didn't even have the slightest idea as to who my father was!

"I'm effing busy." I muttered, and I truly was.

"Well, your room will be in the attic of our new house. You'll have the entire attic floor to yourself."

She left, with no further entreaty concerning my lack of cooperation, much like someone who was short on ideas on how to counter an intellectual response, leaving me thinking of my kid brother.

It wasn't a wonder why I found it hard to trust women and their judgments. Sometimes, they were liable to bring about their own unhappiness, and more often they were responsible for other people's ruin. Take my math teacher for instance. On the first time she had laid eyes on me, the gaze suspiciously had lasted longer than necessary. I right away had figured something in her had been screaming to be _defiled_. Sure enough, upon handing over my first failed major exam in mathematics, she had summoned me to her cubicle where a negotiation had ensued. Rumor had it that she was exactly the type who would not take the effort to give her students the coveted second chances. For that reason, students like Starrk, who was lazy as fuck, would rather accept the glaring 'F' than to conduct negotiations. In my case, I only had to unzip my pants to set her altering my unfortunate grades. I'd been fucking her brains out every Friday night since then outside the knowledge of everyone else besides us, with the exception of Ulquiorra, who was a confidante to me.

Did I enjoy screwing her? Sometimes yeah, and sometimes my trip to her apartment ended up more of a duty rather than a means of fulfilling carnal urges. But in many of these occasions, I left her bed disgusted with myself.

Disgusted with my life.

…

Kurosaki Residence had only three bedrooms excluding the extra room on the uppermost floor, which was to be mine. For my convenience, Dr. Kurosaki had it cleared of dusts and other such junks so that it now utterly looked less like an attic as a living room was. On the whole, it was now fit for human dwelling. However, its size and makeover look did nothing to dispel my misgivings.

That I was pissed with the new environment was of little doubt. Less freedom was in store for me. To add on that, I had two pairs of parental eyes to detain my delinquency and to monitor my temper. To be quite honest, I was putting up with this arrangement as best as I could, but the prospect of having to endure less privacy for a long time ahead was too much for me to contemplate. With all these restrictions, the difference between cursing aloud and raising my middle finger could mean life or death.

So now I was heaving box after box of the useless junk I liked to call my things over three flights of stairs. Sweating like a bastard and panting like a sprinter, I reckoned the sound of shrieks issuing from the family hall on the second floor was enough to raise bloody havoc in my chest. Why? Because the twin girls were playing some childish board game with li'l bro.

Just when I was starting to think I could only give their enjoyment cursory attention, Ichigo burst from his room. From the corners of my eyes, I could see he had a pair of Beats headphones around his neck and he was wearing a pair of overlarge reading glasses. To complement those, his tight jeans were patched with Karakura Soccer Team's emblem. His v-neck plain white tee was loose in contrast. Fucking hipster. I hardly managed to get past the desire to bury my fist in his tummy.

But, on my fourth descent, I managed to steal a glimpse of the group, whereby it became apparent to me that Szayel was sitting on the hipster's lap, showing his new big brother the meaningless set of cards he was holding. They both looked so interested in the shit I was almost sure they were looking at some naked women's photos. Well, if this immediate intimacy had a rightful claim to my jealousy, I'd be damned.

Damn...That brat would normally wriggle out of my grasp if I so much as tried to grab his wrist! The hell was this shit!

I tromped off to the garage to haul from the trunk the last two of my boxes, which chiefly contained videotaped training drills, feeling as though I was in dire need of a shot in the arm, as the weight of my boxes had taken a toll on my biceps… not to mention I was pissed at Szayel. Hell, I couldn't forget the sight of him in so close a proximity with that bloke. Shit.

Just then, in the middle of my bitter musings, I detected someone behind me.

It was Ichigo.

He had left his headphones upstairs, which partially toned down his disagreeable attire. Nevertheless, the look he was giving me only served to aggravate my current frustrations.

"What?" I asked, my irritation shooting through lord-knew-where.

"Need a hand?" There was not the slightest hint of earnestness in his tone, much less amiability. Really, if my name wasn't Grimmjow, his offer might just enrapture me utterly until all I could feel was some sense of gratitude. So unless he could hand me the fucking playbook of his school's Football Team, the answer remained; 'No, I don't fucking need a hand. And shove off, prat.' Yes, that was what I was gonna say, with no self-restraint, no holds barred—

"Sure."

Shit. Just what was with this sometimes-comatose-and-sometimes-overactive state my mind was swinging off to? Damn it. Thus it happened, this idiocy or whatever name fitted it, as Ichigo approached the one remaining box in my mother's Camry's trunk.

I couldn't remember the exact manner by which he carried it about but we soon reached the attic with no word coming in between us. Upon relieving his arms of weight, he took his time nursing his forearms, surveying my room as he did so. Fact was, there had been a time when this type of outstaying a welcome, mine in particular, would have bothered me like hell; back when I had been more prone to losing my temper. But now I realized this dude ain't worth my time, much less my attention. So the offense was nearing its ripest form when I decided to open my mouth, only to be intercepted right on smack,

"Listen, I'm sorry about last time, about being cocky and insinuating that Kugo-sempai was gonna be the sure-shot MVP this year. I kinda browsed the website of the Football Tournament League yesterday, only to find out you are also a candidate for the MVP race this year. What I'm trying to say is, I didn't mean to sound rude or insensitive. It's just that my emotions got the better of me when you called European Football lame."

His apology was definitely not something I expected. Nevertheless, it wasn't a guarantee that sincerity was present in his little speech. For all I knew, he was simply fond of small talks. Because I was a vicious asshole, I stepped toward him, jeered in a way that was nearly predatory, and stopped my advance only until our faces were maybe five inches apart. I answered,

"If you're thinking I give one horseshit about the MVP award, you're mistaken. All I care about in this fucking world is winning, no more no less. An athlete like you ought to have realized that victory is everything. It's all there is to every freaking competition. Or have I overestimated you, Kurosaki Ichigo? Are you just some kind of a pretentious, passionless hipster under the guise of a sports jock? What do they call ya again, Attacking Midfielder? Fancy name for a pseudo-athlete, if you ask me."

At this point, both of us more or less had an idea as to how this exchange was going to end up. As he now was looking quite unfit for another insult, he took a step back and raised his palms as if to say 'I give up', and declared,

"Okay, know what, Grimmjow? We don't have to go this far. I know considering me as a friend is right at the bottom of your to-do list, but—"

"—Listen up because I mean to get this straight: this whole one big happy family charade _disgusts _me. You're my brother now as ordained by the law—I can't do a shit about that—but the connection ends there. So thanks for helping me with the boxes and _piss off_."

This time the expression on his face swelled to a form of some severe dislike, and with this development came a suspecting glare which seemed to assume I was off to launch a vendetta that would make everyone's life miserable. Or maybe I was imagining it. Whatever the case was, I had long before now resolved to make matters worse for my mother and my stepfather. And that was that, no more, no less.

"Well, at least I tried. Good day to you, then, brother." He muttered resignedly.

With a parting nod, he turned to his heels, fists stuffed in pockets, to complete a spectacle of an utter lack of concern for whatever my boorish conduct had been proposing to his imagination. Why, if only he knew what I was capable of and what I was willing to undertake, he'd be cowering behind his little sisters. So with more inward satisfaction, I grabbed him by the shoulder, to which he halted and I declared,

"I will break their marriage apart."

He gently brushed my hand from his shoulder, looking anything other than rattled, but his gaze, rest assured, looked very far from the unfeeling regard for which he seemed to be striving. Indeed, the next words he uttered pretty much spoke for the best threat he could come up with,

"Fine with me. But if you make any of my sisters cry a single tear or hurt my dad in whatever means, I swear to make you sorry for it in the future."

He commenced his exit, leaving me no feeling of insecurity, much less self-doubt, which could also mean I was such a heartless prick that any sharp observer might be sorry for me for the darkness plaguing my soul—if ever I had one. Of course, this also meant that my chances of enlisting his help to access the confidential recorded training drills of the Karakura Gakuen Football players had just went down the fucking drain… this was a wrong move perhaps. I should've pulled this shit off later, admittedly.

But something weird was happening. Just what was with this sudden inability to extricate my eyes from where stepbro had been, even as he had gone for a number of minutes? To top it off, the feel of his hand on mine was barely effacing, my heart beating in a _crazy _pace.

Could this mean I was not entirely heartless, at least not in a literal sense? Well, it couldn't be helped. I had just made an enemy out of my stepbrother. To be honest, my jet-black heart so fucking _wished_ he hated me to hell already. Like, really.

TBC

_A/N: Boring chapter, I know. Next chap coming right up soon. I happen to be just in the mood to continue this crap after having it rot in my hard disk for nearly two years. This may drag on up to several chaps, as I can't really limit myself to a few chapters. Sorry for that. And, oh, I may actually be capable of finishing this without delay lol.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Attraction

…

The fact was, I didn't have anything that could be remotely called tenderness. When I finally came to realize that the whole Kurosaki household was indeed a happy and loving lot, I instantly recognized this as a signal to keep my distance. Detached and hardly caring, I went about my own business, as if my existence hardly had any consequence. The plan I had for myself was to be an indifferent fuck around the house. Somehow the shit worked. It was a plan that had worked a short time until my li'l bro had taken it upon himself to view Ichigo Kurosaki as the big brother he had never had.

Today, I had just arrived home from the daily training sessions. Coach Muruguma of late had been getting more and more rigid with his enforcements as the elimination rounds drew near. As it was, my nerves would never rest even after the grueling training drills. Upon reaching the entry of my new abode, I was greeted by the sight of my half-brother, stepbro and stepsisters. Convening in the foyer and dressed neatly, they must have had some pre-arranged gallivanting somewhere.

"Thsee you later, Grimmy!" Szayel piped up, his voice brimming with excitement.

I hazarded I gaze at Ichigo, who was fishing for his father's car key from the wall. When he was all set up to walk out the door with his siblings, he turned to me.

"We'll be back before eight." His remark concluded their departure, and before long they were toddling toward the doctor's SUV.

And why, pray tell, was Szayel holding his goddamned hand? Jesus. It wasn't until three minutes later when the car's engine was heard. Hence, like a prolog to an unending rant, I walked over to the kitchen to ask my mother.

"Does he even have a driver's license?"

I knew he did, but the desire to argue with her was so thick on me I had to solicit for an obvious answer within full earshot of my stepfather, who answered,

"I taught him how to drive when he was fifteen. He received his license over four months ago, exactly when he turned sixteen. No need to worry, Grimmjow."

Mother then smiled affectionately at his new husband. What neither of them cared to heed, however, was my increasing irritation resulting from what I couldn't exactly tell. But I was annoyed as hell anyway, and I really had to express it the way I wanted to, so I babbled,

"You sure they aren't gonna ram some lamp post somewhere—"

"—Grimmy!" Mother of course interjected, mortified, "What a horrible thing to say! Ichigo is a very responsible youth, and I suggest _you _start taking examples from him!"

I shrugged in response, whereas Dr. Kurosaki barely took his eyes off his morning paper. The sight of him, of his outstanding complacency, disposed me once and for all to a particular conviction: I would, with all my resources, make his marriage miserable.

"Just sayin'."

Without awaiting further response, I proceeded to my room. In an effort to kill boredom as much as possible, I plugged in my PS3 and loaded some game that looked decent enough to offer fun that should last as long as I wanted it to.

…

I started hearing noise from downstairs. My stepsiblings and half-brother had arrived home. And so in no time flat, li'l bro appeared on my doorway, with Ichigo trailing behind him.

"Grimmy, look!" He was feverish with excitement, and to emphasize his mood he was waving this miniature Red Octane guitar for Xbox 360 Guitar Hero and Rock Band titles.

"Where'd ya get that? You don't have a 360." I told Szayel, to which Ichigo answered,

"I have. We're playing in my room, so feel free to drop by."

Szayel then started pressing the multi-colored buttons of his new toy, disposing my imagination all at once to the sort of joy one could derive from playing Rock Band with a five-year old. I so wanted to roar with laughter at what misfortune Kurosaki had just brought upon himself. But while my inner wickedness was running its course, Szayel grabbed his new brother by the hand, and before long he was pulling the teen out of my sight, leaving me more than ready to slam the door with all my might.

My breaths were crowding in faster than my lungs could accommodate.

I was angry, but what else was I feeling? Surely, the anger loomed less definite, but more intense all the same. It was as if I was… hurting for a reason quite different to me. At the very heart of things, I had always known I was bound to be alone in the long run, as no one really understood me, not even that heartless prick Ulquiorra. In addition to that, I was never the type to be injured by the mere presence of jealousy, and yet some strange feeling was taking its toll on me. Did Szayel prefer him over me? The question was eating me whole.

This terrible state of uncertainty dragged on until it began to fade layer by layer. And just then my mobile phone started to ring. It was my math teacher, Shizuka. Presently I was in no mint condition to chat, much less to fuck, so I ignored the call. Within seconds of ceasing to ring, the bloody phone went off vibrating like crazy to announce a text message.

_Busy tonight, dear? Husband's away. Drop by now. _it read.

I stared mutely at the screen with undisguised terror. For the first time, I was dreading her invitation. But the terror soon left me, and even sooner than its complete disappearance was the dawn of some fury I didn't see coming. All I knew was, I was feeling a special kind of anger, the kind which could very much lead to real violence.

Of course my gallivanting with her couldn't be qualified as statutory rape as far as the law was concerned. That was because I was eighteen and therefore of legal age. To top it off, I had to keep all these unspeakable shit to myself. All these secrets, these sharp, dirty thorns on the side were communicable more by my horrid conduct than by some straight confession; all because I had no fucking choice but to bottle everything inside lest I ruin myself.

But wasn't I ruined already?

The world, however, wasn't done yet. For the second time, my phone vibrated yet again to reveal another message. It was from Hisagi Shuhei, my fucking teammate and the star Running Back of the team.

_Guys, I need your shoe sizes now. Coach is ordering us brand new pairs for the next game. Reply ASAP._

Just what the fuck? First and fucking foremost, I was team captain, therefore the conscious part of my brain was suggesting I ought to be the one to disperse coach's messages to my moron teammates; not this sophomore so-called ace! Consequently, my shitty mind was chastising me by recalling certain rumors. The unverified reports were saying I would soon have to forfeit captaincy as I was becoming less and less punctual in the training sessions—not to mention the obvious decline in my performance. Moreover, Kensei-sensei had of late been having speculations about my cleanliness… well, I had always been in the habit of smoking pot once in a while, but not as frequently as to jeopardize my health. To hell with that!

This time, I began to see my life for what it really was; meaningless shit. So, as nothing I could say or do would make this stop, I opted to vent my vexation to the one who brought me to this world in the first place; I ambushed my mother in the kitchen. Luckily, stepfather had retired to their room.

"Who's my father?"

She frowned. A closer look would've confirmed she was more than arrested by this sudden query.

"What is this all about, Grimmy?"

"I asked you a question."

"And I'm asking you to use appropriate language."

"Just who the hell is he? Why won't you fucking tell me?"

She shook her head disdainfully, while I ignored the provocation she was bold enough to offer. Truly, we were mother and son on the surface, but quite equally capable of serious hatred, and right now we were detesting each other. Within seconds, she answered nevertheless,

"In time. You've only been eighteen for a few months. Before you turn nineteen I'm sure he'll enter your life. Not now, though."

That, unfortunately, failed to cause my anger to subside. As a result, I deduced this sort of incident was the type that was better off unresolved. And so I announced, grabbing her car keys from the counter,

"I'm off. Don't ask where I'm going."

"I hope you're only driving to Ulquiorra's place."

…

It was raining outside. The intensity of the downpour would have troubled me at any time before now, for this sort of rain entailed inconveniences and rules of its own, but I was too infuriated to feel anything besides. On I drove, drove like a devil through the hazy streets, while the drops of rain exploded like fucking pellets against the roof of the car. Without realizing where I was steering the car to, I was greeted by the familiar rows of streetlamps. This was the ground of our previous home. Finally, wishing to be spared of other anxieties, I heaved myself off the vehicle and stood in front of our old gate. I sat down the stone steps, clutching my head, while it rained for fucking effect, just like in movies. Like most of my actions, this one wasn't premeditated and, in line with that, I had no idea what I was doing nor what I wanted to happen in the near future.

Suddenly the rain ceased. Within the same second, I perceived neither a clearing in the sky nor a brief reprieve in the weather's onslaught, but I did perceive something. In fact it didn't require a second look on my surroundings to discover it was still raining all around except in the small open space in which I was confined. I looked up, to find someone holding an umbrella over me.

Ichigo Kurosaki.

"She didn't ask me to follow you; I volunteered." He explained curtly, sounding as though he would never have spoken on his behalf if he had any means of avoiding it. Looking like a total jock, he had on a red varsity jacket, with the Karakura Gakuen Soccer Team's emblem patched on one breast.

Not knowing in the least what to say to that, much less decide on a consequential action, I rose to my feet in an abrupt movement, whereby he lifted the umbrella higher to accommodate my height. But his complacent and yet commiserating eyes were like pinpricks to me, because all they did was to assert my vulnerability.

"Mind your own fucking business."

"I would have done exactly that, but Szayel saw you grab the keys on your way out and, well, he dashed after you. But you were already gone."

"What do you want, brat?"

"If it were up to me, I'd say nothing. But, as I care deeply for your mother and brother, I'm asking you to come home."

"This is my freakin' home!" My index finger flew to the direction of my old house.

"Not anymore."

The look he was giving me implied he could treat people with consideration when they deserved it, and right now I hardly deserved it. Even so, I felt myself justified for acting this way. Therefore I grew more certain that I was right about a lot of things and if I was wrong it didn't matter. But he was studying me in the darkness more intently now, an action which heedlessly summoned something in me.

Just like that, it occurred to me that, more than anything, I wanted this serious gap in my life to be filled. I wanted this constant anger and discontent to completely disappear. And, while this desire welled up at the back of my throat, he slipped off his varsity jacket, with difficulty, as he was holding an umbrella after all. He handed it to me. It was here when I discovered that life experiences divided us instead of our differences in character. We were different, but it could be helped if we...

Just what was this grand shit my mind was pulling?

Did I want to trade places with him, so I wouldn't have to guess who my father was, and wouldn't have to be repeatedly sexually violated by a teacher? So that Szayel would see me as a brother worth worshipping, if not looking up to? Did I want to be this responsible all-around goody two-shoes, whose athletic capabilities didn't get in the way of his academic performance? To be a varsity player and an honor student at the same time?

Not one of these, apparently, was the answer. It might have been much and many times more unusually penetrating than any of the above. Maybe, just fucking maybe, I somehow wished to trade places with my little brother, so that this _other _brother would accept me as I am, on my own terms, and fill what gap there was to fill. To say I was going crazy might just be an understatement now.

All of a goddamned sudden, I so wanted to kiss him, under this fucking rain.

Just great.

The bigger question, however, was, _would he let me?_

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Frustration

…

Like any night in my life, this one wasn't gonna yield anything to be desired, as far as my personal preferences were concerned. When the silence had lulled both our minds to listlessness and when the rain upgraded to what looked like a fucking typhoon, my head veered out of my control as it started to protract itself toward my stepbrother's face. He, on the other hand, showed me an unmistakable look of confusion. If someone was to ask why he appeared to be abashed, the answer would be as plain as fucking daylight. Why, this didn't look like anything less than a prelude to a fucking kiss, for fuck's sake. But, thankfully, my firm hold on my wits, if I had any to start with, nerved me to an amazing self-control. Thus said, my actions altogether were postponed, to which he knitted his brows. Honestly, I didn't know how confused I was until too fucking late! So, distraught once more, frantic even, I walked past him, our sides colliding. I might have bumped on him with enough force to dislocate his shoulder but, for all I knew, I had to fucking rid my head of this shit. And to succeed in that, safe distance must be kept between us.

…

In the days that followed, Ichigo and I barely looked at each other, much less exchanged a freakin' word. In this stage of utter awkwardness, I realized my plans of breaking my parents' marriage was very likely to fall into utter failure, partly because I was too preoccupied with a number of things. Hence for the meantime I decided to play, as best as I could, the role my mother was plunking me into.

"Grimmy, didn't I ask you to tie up that loose metal wire sticking out of the fence? Someone might get hurt with that." Mother was telling me.

Dr. Kurosaki had been doing double overtime for three straight days now, leaving the next oldest man in the family, me, to perform the heavier chores around the house. For my part, I did obey a few of those, while some I just ignored. And this last one was one of those I had chosen to ignore. But, being the bastard that I was, more than ignoring this bidding, I chose to lie about it.

"I fixed that shit already. Go check it yourself." I informed her. If she found out I had duped her, she could ask Ichigo to clean up after me once he arrived home from his stupid soccer practice.

"Where do you think you're going? Haven't you just arrived from training?"

"Have to fetch some math reviewers from my pal. I'll be back in a jiffy." Without awaiting her permission, I pulled on my hoodie over my head, put on a pair of shades, and stuffed two packets of condoms in my jeans, completing a look of some very suspicious character.

The clock struck eight thirty in the evening when I managed to pitch myself on the sidewalk, on my way to my math teacher's apartment for some fucking. But my short walk would soon become deplorable because, as soon as I reached the second corner, a vehicle zoomed past me. Through its lightly tinted windows I discerned two faces; Ichigo Kurosaki's and Ginjo Kugo's. The car was a Mazda Miata, a two-seater sports utility vehicle. With Kugo smiling like a devil on the driver's seat, they looked as though they'd just alighted from a whole damn lot of fun. As my current attire rendered me anonymous, there was not the slightest chance that my stepbrother had recognized the random pedestrian that was me, although I wished the opposite was possible… what was he doing allowing that fucker to drive him home? Surely, they were schoolmates, but that fucking quarterback was a senior while my stepbrother was a freshman… like I cared.

…

Once there, I only had to knock once to be pulled inside. The sight of her instantly disconcerted me, attractive though she was and wearing next to nothing.

"I'm glad you came." She started.

I slid off my excess garments and dropped them on the table, as if in slow motion, as if delaying my movements would salvage me from this sorry situation. In the process, she grew impatient. While it was conceivable that I was doomed to an hour or so of this indiscretion, I knew I really didn't have any other option but to get through with this as fast as possible. But, allowing myself to be drawn into the bedroom, I soared off to some higher awareness. When faced with this crushing oppression, like some situation in which a woman was forcing you to abandon your clothes and to do her in the most sadistic fashion a teenager could pull off, one was bound to have enough. And I'd had enough. Apart from that, something I had seen earlier had been boggling me shitless, and that was the final straw.

"What's wrong, Grimmjow?"

What's wrong, she asked, when nothing in sight was going right. Hell, I wasn't even sure whether an insult had not been intended in that fucking question.

"What's wrong? How about I enumerate all that's right rather than what's wrong, in which case we get to save ninety percent of my spit? I'm done with this and fuck all of it." I started to re-close my fly, after which I darted to the door.

"Does this mean you'd rather fail your math?"

Her lips were curling now, enhancing her sex appeal as she sat there on her dirty bed, trying to seduce the devil that was me. Well, people like Starrk and those dumbass cheerleaders had been receiving failed marks all their high school life, but none of them had to go through the same shit I was going through, so what the hell was I afraid of?

"Isn't that fucking obvious? I'm off, cunt." I didn't intend my contempt to manifest itself to that extent but, apparently, I wasn't done yet. Apparently, my hand was reaching for my side pocket to eventually fish a couple of packets of condoms. Surprising even myself, I hurled the despicable objects at her face.

"You bastard!" She gasped.

"I am that, figuratively and literally. Ciao, bitch-whore."

Within thirty minutes of arriving, my feet were once again heaved onto the pavement outside. My mobile phone then started to vibrate. Conceiving no urgency in whatever matter which might possibly require my immediate presence, I ignored it. My sense of complacency for having finally ditched the bitch, however, was soon to evaporate, for here was another vibration from the bloody phone, announcing a message which read;

_Where the hell r u? Szayel's got into an accident!_

The sender was Ichigo, but that hardly mattered. It also didn't matter that I wasn't, after all, free from all human tension even for the fucking meantime. What mattered was my little brother. Just what sort of accident was it? Frantic, I skirted through the streets, my legs surpassing whatever pressure it had ever known in the past. My mind was racing, my chest burning, but none of these disposed me any better to interpreting the matter at hand.

When I reached Kurosaki Residence, only Yuzu was to be found. She evidently had been walking to and fro in the foyer, as if awaiting another emergency. She was waiting for me.

"They're in the clinic. You can go there now." Was all she said, but the urgency in her tone was enough to dispatch me into utter panic.

Dr. Kurosaki's private clinic was attached to the house, but I hadn't been there before. Upon entering, I was greeted by three solemn faces; mother's, Ichigo's and Karin's.

"What the fuck happened to him?" I demanded.

"Dad has it all covered, but it looks serious for a child. He's out of danger anyway." Ichigo answered.

My composure paled, vanished, and reappeared, all within the span of time he spoke. But my crisis wasn't over yet, and its extension was soon revealed to me for my mother had stepped forward to enlighten me,

"He suffered concussions on his head which tore away a small portion of his scalp, scraping the surface of his skull. He bled profusely and wasn't even able to cry in pain. It was a good thing Ichigo had arrived from school to find him. All the same—"

"—What exactly happened?"

Ichigo and Karin exchanged nervous glances, and it was their manners rather than their sentiments that irritated me. If they wished to tell me something, they ought to blurt it right off and quit being a bunch of dodgy bastards who liked to leave me guessing shit after shit like some fucking fortune teller.

"He slipped off the garden and, as he fell, his head brushed against the sticking metal I asked _you _to clear yesterday." Mother explained bluntly, stressing the necessary parts with stern emphasis. In consequence, her words went through me like a fucking serrated knife.

Flabbergasted and lost for words, I allowed my shoulders to drop and my teeth to clench in agitation. Suddenly I fancied I was up against something menacing and haunting, against which I needed allies. Indeed guilt was grinding me down to sheer vulnerability. After all the anxiety, the world was kind enough to tell me this was all my fault. To further that, all this inner turmoil was nothing compared to what I had brought upon my brother and my mother. Finally I resorted to profess my guilt openly, if only to do good rather than harm,

"C—can I at least see him?" Shakily I muttered.

"Certainly, but you can't enter because Dr. Kurosaki is stitching his head. You may take a peek through the window."

I sprinted across the waiting area, my guilt never departing. Ignorant of whatever else was going on around me, I watched the procedure intently. My brother, as he lay there, appeared to be under the influence of a sedative, therefore he probably was no longer under any serious pain. But what arrested me most was Dr, Kurosaki. He appeared to be thoroughly absorbed, and although I couldn't see the rest of his face due to the face mask he was wearing, I could tell he was performing the task with what earnestness doctors were endowed with in order to save lives. And he was securing my brother's life. It was this that led me to repeat, contemplate, and contradict myself for all the offense I had been planning to pull on him. Suddenly I was disgusted with myself, so much that I couldn't take this anymore. Hence, slowly, with heavy steps, I exited the premises, leaving no word of apology to my mother and my stepsiblings.

I wanted to disappear.

All there was to feel was barrenness. Instead of remorse and the need to seek penance, anger again was overtaking me. This time, the anger was directed to myself and to no one else. And for all that, it still wasn't enough, so then maybe beating myself up would do for a start. So beat myself I did; as soon as I reached my room I faced the fucking wall and started banging my goddamned forehead against it, with what force was required to crush a human skull. Too bad the partition was made of some fucking weak gypsum board and plaster stuffing, but I didn't fucking mind. Hell, I'd make myself bleed anytime and anywhere I wanted, because I needed the fucking pain!

And then, suddenly, in the midst of this frenzy, a pair of hands from behind grabbed me by the shoulders. Distracted and physically drained as I was, I was tossed down on the carpet defenselessly, so that I had to scramble on my feet to retrieve balance. Again, it was Ichigo who was eroding my fucking peace.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He asked, his eyes narrowing, therefore leaving his expression to its accustomed fearsomeness. It was the first time I saw him this angry.

"Leave me the fuck alone."

"To do what? Dismantle the whole attic? I must say your immaturity far exceeds my expectations."

Upon that remark, anger, pain, and guilt ran a swift course over me. Also, images of him and Kugo riding a Mazda Miata were swimming around my imagination for some sick reason. And so as what my current temper dictated, I charged at him, against my better judgments, and on the carpet we rolled, with me gaining the upper hand. But he had both his hands on the collars of my shirt, while I was heaved on top of him, my fist raised as if to serve as a warning.

"Don't get cocky, prick." I hissed. Really, I could stuff my fists in his mouth and still I'd feel a certain legitimacy to my violence. After all, he had trespassed against my comfort, besides having come in without fucking permission.

"If you're gonna punch me, then fucking do it before anyone catches us in this position."

That amplified my fury. Perhaps the ferocity I was exercising at the moment was enough to upset any man alive. But Ichigo remained calm, his breathing regular at least in pace, his face not even crimsoning. All at once my posture slackened, perhaps against my will, allowing my weight not to fall full blast on him. For whatever fucking reason, it dawned on me that I didn't want him hurt. I couldn't tell what else I was feeling at the moment, and yet there I was, hoping that by some means or the other this nearness would _not _reach its end… just why? Slowly, I was slipping off my wits. And just as slowly, like something mechanical, my face was descending closer to his.

I intended to beat him into a bloody pulp. Instead, I ended up kissing him, for _real_.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Ulquiorra

…

It was pure conjecture whether he was bewildered by this or not. While he appeared calm on the surface, every sort of disarray must have been gnawing at his insides. That was most likely because something as unlooked for as this was more difficult to straighten than a whole pack of horseshit. If I had been a little less fervent, like if I had kissed him in a normal manner under normal circumstances, some lame excuse would have worked. But, as things were, I was snogging him as if I had been _waiting all my life _to pull this shit off. Jesus.

On the whole, I was guilty of committing two atrocities all at once, namely: first, sexual assault against a minor, made even more offensive by the fact that we both had penises, and, last, incest, which was pardonable under NO circumstances. Why, nothing excusable could be derived from what I had just done! Aside from the actual offense, there was bound to be a lot of complications to arise from this. For instance, he could kick me out of the house by all means or, worse, resolve never to speak to me again…and why would that bother me?

Finally, he made a motion to sit up, to which I docilely set myself aside. If he wished to punch me in the jaw it would, from every point of view, appear just right. In fact, I'd permit it here and now should he grant me the freedom to declare our accounts settled. But he spoke not a word nor produced the smallest of sounds, and thereupon I gauged this was well beyond the degree of his experiences in life. His departure, mirthless and indicative of almost not a single thing, served to tell me that what had just transpired ought to be a secret only he and I would ever know.

…

My math class found me in a state of utter listlessness. I wasn't even in any condition to give a thought to the lethal gazes the whore was giving me. When the bell rang, however, my solitude ended, for here was Ulquiorra, dumping a set of printed shit on my table.

"What's this shit?" I asked.

"No idea. Yadomaru asked me to hand it to you."

"Why didn't that bitch give it to me personally?"

"Most likely because she _hates _you."

"Of course she doesn't." I argued for the heck of it. Lisa Yadomaru was manager of the football team, and her regard for the team members ranged from calling us jerks in and out of our earshot to working us like a fucking horse until we forgot our names. Sometimes, whenever we succeeded in getting her so apeshit angry, she'd hurl a boxful of cleats at our faces.

I scoffed and scanned the printed article. It had a warning scribbled on a post-it, which read: '_Do not lose your copy again. Or else_.' Or else Lisa would snap my spinal column in half, simple as that. Anyway, the whole shit consisted of Mikasa Gakuen Tigers' stats. But Mikasa High School was located down Kinki region, which meant we would only be faced against them if they emerged as the Kinki representative and we as the Kanto representative. Moving on, the skills table of said team's Running Back / Safety rookie was highlighted by coach to emphasize a point.

_**Kira Izuru, **__Mikasa Gakuen Tigers, Sophomore, Jersey #32, Quarterback_

_Power / Tackle: C_

_Agility / Speed: B_

_Endurance : C_

_Technique: B_

_Leadership: A_

_**Toshiro Hitsugaya, **__Mikasa Gakuen Tigers, Freshman, Jersey #10, Running Back / Safety_

_Power / Tackle: C_

_Agility / Speed: A+_

_Endurance : C_

_Technique: A+_

_Leadership: B_

"Those are impressive figures." Ulquiorra was peering at the paper.

Determining all at once that he was referring to the rookie and not to the mediocre Quarterback, I scoffed. "Pffft. Toshiro Hitsugaya is known as the 'Tiger Cub', because he's a cute little infant among big boys."

"Maybe they're simply referring to his height and stature."

"Yeah, but this brat, I heard, is fifteen years old. Hisagi will _slaughter_ him on the field, rest-assured." As if counting the matter as settled, I tucked the papers in my breast pocket. But a related topic shot off my mouth, "Anyway, do you happen to know if that Kicker bastard has any plans of rejoining the team?"

I was referring to the exact same dude whose absence in the team had of late been crippling our performance. The bastard's refusal to rejoin football was responsible for more than half our losses last year, but it wasn't like you could demand people to participate in something as physically draining as football without expecting future desertion. This bastard, however, had the audacity to walk around like some lazy prick who had nothing to do with the team he left behind. He simply knew no sympathy, no sense of… well, thoughts of him kinda made me wanna punch holes in the wall.

"No idea either. Anyway, you were calling me last Friday night. I'm sorry I missed the call; I was very busy. Did you need something?"

"Why am I not surprised? But I texted you. Didn't you receive it?" I asked.

"I don't read text messages."

"I needed to talk to you about something."

"Is it about your mom again?"

I'd have appreciated the hints of concern entailed in his words if it hadn't been for the monotony of tone he employed in them. But I was used to this by this time. We had, after all, known each other since we were as little as Szayel. On the other hand, he perhaps didn't know what misfortune was committed to him for being my oldest friend.

"No."

"So it's about Shizuka-sensei?" He mentioned the whore's name entirely without distinction, as if she were merely a person who had very little to do with the recent causes of my distress.

"Something else. I'll tell ya all about it on your way home."

"Don't you have football practice?"

"Right, which means you're gonna walk me to the field. And you never watch my training drills. Some friend you call yourself."

"Whatever."

Four hours later, we found ourselves walking side by side within school grounds. He might've preferred to spend the after-school period alone and would rather rid himself of my presence if he could help it. To his misfortune, I was just exactly the sort of bastard who was very difficult to discard. To top this off, the female population of the school was ever so prone to throw him scowls whenever the sight of us together would greet them. Sometimes, as I was such a nasty bastard, I'd place an arm around his shoulder and smell his hair affectionately in full view of the women, just so to suggest dating any of them was so at the bottom of my list I'd sooner end up sleeping with the dude they hated so much. 'Cut it out' happened to be the most frequent line he had executed on me. Earlier this year, however, Ulquiorra had found his locker filled with stationeries with the word 'faggot' scribbled on every note. I'd have done my nuts if the bullying affected him one bit but, as it was, he merely had cleared the shit out and let them slide down the floor without bothering to read any of the notes. This was perhaps part of the reason why I never dated any of my schoolmates.

And yet I was already having second thoughts about narrating to him the atrocity I had pulled on my new stepbrother, as well as the injury my negligence incurred on my li'l bro.

"Tell me." He started, with so absolute an absence of interest that his coldness seemed intentional.

"Before anything else, I know you don't have friends other than me but I'm gonna have to ask you to enter a pact of silence."

"I don't talk, Grimmjow."

"Well, shit…"

"…"

"Ulquiorra, I'm in big fucking trouble. When I say 'big', count on it to be some irrevocable shit."

"Your mom discovered your porn stash—"

"—It's not that."

"Then it must be your marijuana stash."

"You know I haven't been getting my supply for donkey months now."

"Has she discovered you've been screwing a married woman for the last two years?"

"Nah, but fuck that."

"Have you gotten sensei pregnant?"

"I'm not sure and I don't fuckin' care, therefore it ain't that."

"It must be that Coach Muruguma has decided to remove you from captaincy."

"Fuck that. Coach would sooner find me murdered before that happens."

"Well, I suggest you say it straight."

"It's a fucking something I apparently can't keep bottling inside but I can't just unload it like some valueless secret."

"Time's up. I'm heading home."

"Wait, damn it. See, it's most likely the tightest pinch I've ever been in—"

"So you're basically telling me it isn't any of the aforementioned five and that it's apparently worse than them."

"Basically that."

If he had been somehow capable of evincing the slightest of facial expressions, he would most likely have scoffed derisively in his own pompous way. But, as things were, he merely pulled to a halt, looked at me square in the face, and rejoined,

"By far the worst, you say?"

"Yeah."

"Well, allow me to congratulate you, my friend, for being officially in deep shit."

I began to hope to hell it was his humor that was talking, and not his foresight which, on a side note, had always been infallibly genius. But then I remembered this bastard had no access whatsoever to something as nice as humor.

"Know what, perhaps I've changed my mind. I'll see you tomorrow. Ciao."

"Suit yourself."

He halted when the field came into view. The nod he next gave me was his signature announcement of departure. And so he turned to his heels, and for some reason it was almost a comfort to me. This past year appeared to have developed some side of Ulquiorra's character that I somehow liked. I always knew he was homosexual but that part of him had not taken on a more lasting form until late last year. Last year, I had started noticing his eyes. They had been ever so prone to veer toward… the fucking former Kicker, who also happened to be an uncaring prick—not that I was one to talk. Right then, I had known he was in love, or something like it. But since Ulquiorra's emotions never seemed to be in proportion with his actions, although there always was a shortage of both, nothing had come of the feeling he had been keeping. That fucking team-deserter would never know of it and would most likely receive it like he would yesterday's news. Perhaps the prick wouldn't even listen. Surely, my one and only friend was in for a huge heartbreak.

…

From my window, the sound of an unfamiliar car's engine could be discerned. When I looked down I found that the sight was off to disconcert me big time, for here was Ginjo Kugo's red Miata in front of my current residence, depositing my stepbrother on the doorstep. What it meant I couldn't tell. Perhaps these two school-buddies had a lot going on between them… and what the hell. To prevent further discomfort, I turned away. But, thirty minutes later, no sooner than I turned my TV on did I hear a knock on my door. Lazily I responded,

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal Szayel, his head tightly bandaged, and… Ichigo. With a sudden sharpness of movements I bolted upright, knocking a few soda cans on the floor, and looked away with an unnatural aversion. All in all, I looked exactly like a startled idiot. And then he spoke,

"Szayel wishes to play. I can't accommodate him right now because I'm having a few friends over for some school project. If you wish to play Guitar Hero, you can crash in my room for now. I'll just be downstairs" He recited, the consistency of his voice almost arresting me. It was as if he was more than determined not to allude to what had happened to us two nights before. And what was I expecting? It was just a kiss, for crying out loud.

"Fine. Come, Szayel"

Ichigo prodded the boy gently toward me, before leaving with a final nod. And I, being always the last to realize my situation, kept my eyes fastened on his back until he disappeared into the fucking stairwell. Before long, Szayel was busying himself with Little Big Planet 2, while I resorted to lift weights in front of the window, if only to derail my mind off the stepbrother, who I fucking kissed previously. On other matters, my li'l bro looked better now, and the more I think about it the more pronounced my debt to Dr. Kurosaki became. But I hated it, hated it like one would hate a debt he had no means of repaying.

Down on the courtyard, Ichigo and five of his friends were seated around a picnic table, bent over a few emergency lamps and what looked like a very lame art project. One of the three dudes, I recognized, was Karakura Gakuen Wolves' rookie Lineman, Sado Yasutora. At least Kugo didn't tarry any longer because that would be sick. But what an uninteresting sight it all was—until my disregard grew thin. As soon as one of the two girls, one whose breasts threatened to spill out of her neckline, rested her head on Ichigo's shoulder, I knew I was in for some sort of unwarranted agitation. Why, I couldn't tell. And yet I could tell that I was suddenly imagining myself running around the backyard, chasing chickens to wring their fucking necks! Not a minute later, in my mind, the chickens' heads started to morph into human heads—Ichigo's and his chick classmate's heads. Jesus, that was sick, not to mention immature. Anyway, I fancied the rift between me and my stepbrother had widened and grown colder. Again, I could not understand this feeling any more than I could decipher fucking hieroglyphics.

Having agreed with myself it was wrong to tarry in front of the window any longer, I dropped the weights and cast a last look at the six merry people. I was about to force my fucking self to draw away completely when Ichigo, as if feeling my gaze palpable, turned his head slightly around, and with scarcely any exertion gazed back straight at my window—at me. Our eyes must have met for a few seconds. So what if he had figured I had been watching them, him in particular? Didn't that mean he, in all assurances, also could not take his eyes off me? It was like we were waltzing around each other, playing this stupid stealing glances game. Still, I felt like a creep.

But mother had entered the room. At first I thought she was up to feed Szayel, but then she sat on my bed, empty-handed, whereas I sank into a seat beside my brother.

"How long before he takes this shit off his head?" I inquired, referring to li'l bro's bandages.

"One week or so."

"My bad." I muttered. This apology came unbidden, so that what I had been trying to express all along became clear to her.

"Can't be helped. For now we're all relieved he's faring excellently. Anyway, Grimmy, I need to talk to you." She said, her voice assuming a more delicate tone.

"About what?"

Because she was the type who would say directly what was in her mind, she spoke, unmindful of anyone who could possibly overhear our exchange,

"Your father; your biological father."

With a single sentence she managed to unnerve me a dozen ways. Thus established, I was left nearly gawking at her, emitting not a sound,

"…"

"I always thought he'd contact me sooner or later, but I didn't expect it to be this early. In any case, he wishes to _meet _you. Finally."

TBC

_A/N: Yawn. Such a boring chapter. My problem is, this was written a long time ago. Whenever I'd reread it to see if it needs any rendition, I end up getting cold feet, so I'm just uploading it as it is. Anyway, how do ya find Bleach's latest chap? Every week I keep expecting Grimmjow to show up lol I miss the dude._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: The Biological Father

…

Suddenly my mind was wandering over the varied surfaces of my existence. In my life I might have earned more enemies than friends, more hatred than love. The people I could assume to hold earnest concern for me were few. And that was counting Szayel who doubtless would learn to deplore me as soon as he reached his teens. There was my mother, and it was clear she was enduring me more for the fulfillment of the role designated to her by my birth than for any serious maternal affection.

Next came Shizuka, the whore teacher. Being twenty-eight years of age, she apparently saw it fit to declare her undying love for me. That demented bitch. I might've passed for twenty but what the fuck had I to offer her, my collection of Nintendo DS cartridges? On hindsight, she might've been truly in love. In the end, however, I had been merely seduced by what I had come to believe was a dark, thrilling venture. In other words, I had allowed my dick to do all the thinking instead of using my head. Once I had had my fill, the sexual thrill had gone out the window. And all that was left now was to leave her in the gutter to rot, broken hearted.

Moving on, Nnoitora Jiruga was one. He had been my classmate throughout junior high but, being the incorrigible delinquent that he was, he had been made to repeat his freshman year, so now we barely saw each other. In spite of that, he'd ring on me time and again, to satiate my monthly supply of weed, of which Ulquiorra did not approve. In fact, so-called best friend had in one occasion given me an ultimatum. _'Your other wild propensities I can at least leave alone. But if you don't stop doping around, I guess we're over, Grimmjow.' _Ulquiorra had told me, as if breaking up with an imaginary boyfriend. My dope intake had found itself reduced ever since.

And then there were the Panthers. Sometimes I hated my teammates, and coach most of all for always screaming at me. But those instances were limited only within the confines of a football field. Outside of that, coach believed in me, while the rest respected me, looked up to me, admired me even in spite of my arrogance.

Lastly, Starrk. He, Ulquiorra and I went way, way back. Obviously, Starrk had long ago drifted away, leaving me and Ulquiorra like strangers, for a reason I'd rather not discuss for now.

On the other hand, the shadow of my biological father's existence loomed eminently over me. Never bitterly dark, never actually comforting, his mystery had hung over me all through these years, until it wore itself away little by little. It had worn itself away completely when I had got used to this house. I had realized my mother and I had done without him, so why need that absentee bastard now?

"He said he'll call back in the morning. I'll hand the phone to you when that comes." Mother said that night.

…

"Dinner tonight at eight pm, Hanazawa Drive, Gate 45. I'll have a chauffer fetch you… son." These were the first words my father spoke to me, and he said them over the fucking telephone. There was no guessing his character by his tone of voice simply because there was not the slightest hint of anything worth noting in it.

As it was, once again I left training sessions earlier than usual. By the time I grabbed my duffel bag, coach was all set up to wring my fucking neck in front of the whole team. And then at home, mother produced another one of my suits from the closet, all the while babbling directives as to how to behave in front of my father and all that shit.

"Your father is a very respectable man. He is only two years my senior, which means we had you when we were both very young. I'm sorry I didn't get the opportunity to prepare you for this."

She owed me an explanation, but apparently there wasn't a lot to explain. At length, in what appeared to me as five minutes, the chauffer arrived. When I went down to do what I was set up to do, I was greeted by a black Lincoln Continental whose windows were so heavily tinted you'd think some important bastard was gonna issue from the vehicle soon. Apart from that, the commemorative plates screwed on the bumpers weren't like the ones on ordinary vehicles. To complete the spectacle, a very well-dressed lackey bolted out the passenger seat.

"Grimmjow-sama, I've been given orders to pick you up." He then nodded graciously to my mother and Dr. Kurosaki, who had followed me downstairs.

Not knowing what I was exactly doing, much less guess what meaning I could derive from his strange address to me, I gave a gesture of assent to the lackey before casting a last look on my mother and stepfather. Having secured myself in the car, I raised my eyes to the second floor window of Kurosaki residence. Sure enough, a light was shining on Ichigo's window. A closer look would confirm he himself was looking over the driveway. It would be stupid to assume he hadn't been watching the whole thing. But the sight of his silhouette altered the complexion of my mind. As abrupt as the news of my father's appearance, a certain image was stabbing me from the inside. I realized I was recalling, in vivid details, what had transpired last night. Ichigo and his fucking chick classmate had kissed each other goodbye on the night prior, right in front of his other four pals—on the fucking lips. I had blanked out right then, honest. The immodesty, man. I fancied if he had gone on to liplock the petite, black-haired chick as well it wouldn't have altered the indignity I had felt, because it had already been at its breaking point.

_Hell, he could've also snogged Sado Yasutora, for the hell of it, and it wouldn't have made the slightest difference_. _I shouldn't have watched them from my fucking window_, a voice kept repeating.

For some ungodly reason other than my issues with my father, my disquietude multiplied to exponential figures.

…

Hanazawa Drive Gate 45 looked like a fucking mini-mansion. Its size was moderate but the neo-classical details employed on the exterior were, if anything, arresting. Details aside, I deduced soon enough that I was delivered to this part of the town where diplomats and ambassadors were welcomed should they propose to stay for long periods of time. Clearly, this was a government-owned facility. In consequence, my curiosity for his identity increased. In time, I was led to a richly-decorated dining room, where only two sets of dinner were served. I accepted this as a meaning that he alone would receive me. And then he entered the room.

"Good evening, Grimmjow."

He was tall, quite as tall as I was, and complementing his impressive stature was his face. It was the sort from which women could derive positive satisfaction. Nearly forty years old and looking much younger than that, he perhaps had more than his share of womanizing_._ Although his foreign looks added much to his majesty, hints of oriental features were equally in existence in his countenance. _Why, ain't this dude fucking handsome. No wonder my mother thought nothing of the consequences when she parted her legs for this bastard. _I thought.

"Yoh."

He made a motion for me to sit, thereby commencing his meal. A few minutes passed by with hardly a syllable between us, but soon, with amiability, he proposed to speak of trivial subjects, like the weather in the country and other such diplomatic and political concerns which didn't interest me in the fucking least. To my credit, I successfully silenced all urges to yawn and to scowl, while he went on to talk about himself,

"My name is Sousuke Aizen, and I'm an official serving in the Foreign Affairs branch of a government-funded establishment. I don't believe your mother talked much to you about me."

"She _never _talked about you, at all." I clarified. At this point, it was taking all my goddamned reserves to refrain from snickering.

"Just as I thought. Well, to start with, I am the only son of a Spanish ambassadress to Japan, that is, your grandmother who is nearly retired. She married a local of this province, Sanosuke Aizen, my father, but soon they divorced. Throughout my youth I bounced back and forth from Barcelona to Kanto."

That explained my Caucasian features, but not the rest. So I was about one-fourth Spanish, with good ancestry as far as my father's and paternal grandmother's professions were concerned, and yet none of these pieces of info was enough to warrant giving a damn. Really, I was beginning to get so fucking bored I was on the brink of inquiring if there was a television set around. Even so, he pursued his life story, thereby giving me more or less half of what I cared enough to know. It turned out he had met my mother on one of his vacations here. He had been seventeen and she fifteen.

He continued, "For two years the romance bloomed on and on, until we both realized she was carrying my child. She had just turned seventeen then. And so she, being ever so unreasonable, chose to break away from me to never see my face again."

"I see." I commented, if only to assure him I hadn't got anything stuck in my fucking windpipe. In truth, I would rather not utter a damn shit because, fuck this, I didn't know whether to care or not.

"Yes. But please understand that for five years following our separation I sought her far and wide, until I came upon a common friend. Reluctantly this friend referred me to her new hometown. Hence without announcement or any such ceremony, I knocked on her door. There we came face to face for the first time after five long years. Immediately I inquired as to the fate of her pregnancy, the subject of which she was swift to dismiss, as if to imply she had had a miscarriage. Her conducts, however, gave her away. I deduced she had kept the child so I demanded to see it—you. She wouldn't allow me. We argued endlessly on the hallway, her neighbors popping their heads out their windows to examine the commotion, but nothing gave. You were probably asleep all the long while; so near to me and so far all the same. It enraged me. In the end, she handed me a photograph of you, and that was enough to pacify me for the meantime. But on that frame I saw my own eyes. You looked strikingly like me; you still do."

Aizen Sousuke then reached deep into his pocket, and in no time he was spreading the contents of his wallet on the table. When I looked closer, old photographs of my younger self were looking straight at me. My smile in one shot reminded me so much of Szayel.

"Neat."

"We came into an agreement. She promised to inform me of her location every year and send me photos or video footages of you regularly, and in return I would provide for your financial needs."

In that remark, everything now fell into place. My father was somewhat wealthy and for that reason his former lover and their bastard son were living in comfort. Still, I saw him as a vague entity, never as a father.

"Cool, I guess."

"That's a father's duty." He said mechanically, folding his arms across his chest, completing a look of utter respectability. Losing no opportunity to express his intentions, he resumed, "Now that it's said and done, I wish to take you _away_, son. I talked to your mother about this over the phone yesterday. It appears she and your stepfather have agreed to leave the choice to you, as you are already eighteen, after all."

"Where to?"

"To Europe or America, depending on my next job assignment. I'm entreating you to take up your college education from either continents, under my supervision and financial aid. You will be provided for generously; a car of your own, a nice place to stay—everything. Furthermore, we can make use of your skills as a quarterback to ease up your entry in your desired university. I've always watched your games on broadcast, by the way, and I must say this: you _are _quite a talent. I doubt you would find it hard to qualify for a slot in some elite fraternity in any western university. Needless to say I'm endowing you with everything your education may require, I'm also ensuring you a life of utter comfort. Understand that this isn't an offer as much as it is an entreaty. You see, I haven't married and I have no immediate plans to, which goes to say I'm living alone… Grimmjow, you are my blood, my one and only son."

All in a single train of sentences my inattention to the matter collapsed. In a dozen heartbeats the whole of this shit was taking an entirely new route. I found myself thinking of my life here in Japan, of the world I had always known, of mother, Szayel, Ulquiorra, and Coach Muruguma—even of Starrk. Of football, most of all. Indeed, their images were enough to push me to some deeper sense of regard. I had something going on here. To forsake them all at once required more than your usual amount of deliberation. But then, in America, football was the biggest thing. College League. NFL. Superbowl. I could make a name for myself over there, even build a future…be like Tom Brady. Getting drafted in the NFL had always been my wildest dream. Surely, this was an extremely attractive offer which only a straight-out moron could decline.

And then something arose from the depths of my consciousness. Somehow, for some motherfucking reason, a certain pair of brown eyes and orange hair were zooming in and out of my imagination.

"I will need time to think it over."

The evening ended with that.

TBC

_A/N: I sure hope none of you died of boredom after reading this lol. Sorry to waste your time on this one but what unfolded here is something you might call elemental to this crap's so-called plot_—_if it has any. I will try to make the next chap eventful, to the best of my ability (which means you ought not to get your hopes up haha). As for Aizen being G's pops, well, I'm too lazy to think of someone else._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: A Game of Jealousy

…

Seventy-two hours after my meeting with my father, I attended dinner downstairs. And so around the table, five individuals were shrieking with laughter, helping themselves with second servings, all the while refusing to give a single fuck to the fact that Ichigo and I were being engulfed by an unusual silence. Presently my gaze met his. It lasted for a second, and by the time he presided over his meal I had lent my attention back to the document I had just printed. It was a nearly complete team and players technical data of the Juujika Gakuen Bullets, exactly the useless shit coach and manager liked to send me to perhaps induce me into some nervous breakdown. I read through it from top to bottom, and instilled in my mind two threats, namely said team's ace and captain. Juujika Gakuen was house to the strongest Linebacker in Kanto, Renji Abarai, and to the most intelligent Quarterback in the league, Kajoumaru Hidetomo, who I had heard had an IQ of 155. My nerves were wracking. But then my mother was also exactly the type who liked to do useless shit, to rattle my nerves in particular.

"You should've invited your girlfriend." She told Ichigo.

For my part, my genius throat went on to choke on something that did not exist until it almost killed me. To add on that, the printed pages I was holding slipped outta my hands to scatter on the floor. As the fits of coughing that followed were as violent as a frickin' roar of thunder, the doctor asked,

"You alright, Grimmjow?"

"I'm—*cough*—fine."

"So when are you having her for dinner?" Mother pursued after ignoring her choking-to-death son, and I could just buzz out right here right now.

"Anytime, I suppose." Ichigo answered unwillingly.

Yuzu and mother squealed in delight. But Ichigo stole a furtive glance in my direction, leading me to believe he didn't like this conversation any more than I did. As if that wasn't enough, everyone else's ignorance of the tension between me and my stepbrother grew more marked, and they lost no opportunity to prove it by proposing ridiculous garbage such as,

"What about you, Grimmjow? What happened to the girl you used to date?"

"Fine." I lied. Mother was clearly referring to Ulquiorra's older sister, Nel, who was four years my senior and was a lesbian through and through, and therefore would sooner allow her ovaries to expire before she granted me access to her vagina.

"I just hope you're not neglecting her for football, son."

Again, Ichigo stole another furtive glance.

—next evening—

There was again a lot of hustle and bustle in the kitchen and in the dining room where some grand shit dinner for nine people was going to be served in honor of the attendance of my and Ichigo's girlfriends. My girlfriend, should I be permitted a fucking simile, was exactly like my sports car; _it didn't exist_. Having found myself in a goddamn pinch, I enlisted the help of Ulquiorra's big sister for some grand act of pretense. Because she consented, you might be interested to hear what she asked for in return. Well, she required that I procure a date for his equally homosexual little brother. I protested vehemently for reasons quite obvious; his li'l bro was, if anything, a fucking passive prick whose deadpan reaction to anything would soon reach the count of infinity before anything remotely cool happened to his love life. But Nel wouldn't hear any of it. I had to find Ulqui a date soon or I was done for. Hence, for the _meantime_, Nel happened to be my girlfriend. As I formally introduced her to the family, the Kurosaki twins were looking at her with unrestrained interest, as she was almost as tall as me and was pretty by any known standards.

Inoue, Ichigo's girlfriend, on the other hand, didn't pale too much in comparison. Whatever. As if I gave one horseshit. None of this planned train of events, however, was working to my advantage. Because Nel and I had nothing in common, my cover was liable to blow itself off if anyone so much as asked me anything more challenging than her age and name.

"So you're a university student, I believe. What course are you taking up?" went Dr. Kurosaki's interview. Beside him, mother couldn't quite take her eyes off Nel, while Szayel decided to show off to her by flashing random Pokemon cards at her.

"Paleoanthropology, sir."

"Ho! A very interesting choice indeed. So what's the most baffling specimen you have so far encountered?"

"Easily it's this Homo Floresiensis we dug up in Java, largely due…"

Blah blah blah. Obviously the discussion had taken a turn to which I couldn't follow. As such, I took no further trouble to pretend listening to any of that garbage and delegated my attention instead to what was happening on the other side of the table. And, surprise, his fucking GF and Ichigo were holding hands under the table.

Just. What. The. Fuck. For? So what was this, some sort of a sick fad that was supposed to make dinner more difficult? I mean, if you were using one hand to hold a utensil and the other to hold yer girlfriend's hand, eating would be more challenging, right? Jeez. The tabletop was fucking pure glass, and if they so imagined their slightness unobserved, well, maybe I could shove his face on his pudding and expect no one else to fucking notice. To hell with this. Why they chose to exhibit their affection in full view of me was beyond my understanding. Since there was no foreseeable end to this fiasco, and because I was so fucking mature, I might as well play my part here and now. And be some kind of a moron. Sure enough, I grabbed Nel's hand, in fucking full view of Ichigo.

Surprisingly, he shot me a perturbed glance. Well, well, I only hoped I obtained the desired effect. But Nel dug her nails in my palm, the sharpness stinging me, as a signal that I must end this monkey business now or she would punch me in the nose as soon as all this role-playing shit was over. Hell, I _didn't _let go because the imagined discomfort I was giving this fucking Berry was all too satisfying. And to amplify my success, he let go of his girl's hand. Why, if that didn't mean a shit I'd dip my head in the nearest water closet.

Soon, the female visitors called it a night, speaking soft and courteous farewells to the master and mistress of the house and hugging the young ones with extraordinary affection. However, my tolerance for anything would soon disappear, for here now was Ichigo proposing to drive his fucking girlfriend home. That idiot. If they were planning to check-in into some love motel they ought to fucking exercise subtlety. If they had what you might call shame, the least they could do was to barricade people's imagination from some lewd conclusion. Jesus. What a moron.

"I'll only be gone for twenty-five minutes, tops." He told mom and Dr. Kurosaki, to which I snorted audibly for everyone to look at me as though I had said something offensive.

We were all outside, showing the two girls to the gate when this shitty proposal unleashed itself from Ichigo's mouth. At that, a certain impulse wended its way to me, prompting my arm to pull Nel toward me and to kiss her on the fucking lips, in front of fucking everyone. Before we disengaged our mouths, however, she speared me in the nuts with her knee, out of everyone's notice of course, leaving me grunting to myself in pain. I would've had struck her head with my fist if only all this shitty charade hadn't been my own doing.

"I didn't bargain for this, asshole. But I forgive you for tonight because this sixteen-year old hot chick is very much my type. So watch this." She whispered venomously in my ear and before I knew it she had glided over Ichigo and his girl, wearing her honest-to-god gentle smile, saying, "Where does Orihime-chan live? I can drop her off myself. See, that green Toyota over there is my ride."

"Down Kanzhu block, miss." Inoue answered, blushing profusely, for some reason known only to herself.

"Excellent! I live eight blocks from there. Shall we? I hope you don't mind, Ichigo-chan." She winked at me. Well, she could rape that chick for all I cared.

Ichigo nodded in assent, leaving the fate of her girlfriend at Nel's hands. Not soon after the last exchanges of cordialities, the Toyota bounded off to wherever. I traipsed past him before he could say a word to me.

In my room, my used garments were strewn all over the goddamn floor. Hence in my honest desire to dispel thoughts of Ichigo and his perfectly sweet girlfriend, I went about scooping all the trash in sight and collecting my sweaty clothes. Once that was done, I sped down the stairs into the laundry in the basement. And look who was there to fucking greet me.

Kurosaki Ichigo.

The expression on my face perhaps insinuated as much annoyance as someone who was enduring a very bad case of menstrual cramps. As a result, he made it a point to walk past me without further ado, as if he would rather not cross paths with me ever again. Why he chose this minute as the perfect time to be in the fucking basement was perhaps life's way of saying there was a need to drive me crazy as much as possible. And then to make matters worse, he spoke,

"Good luck on your match against Juujika. I do hope Nagano turns out to be the champion of Kanto."

"Hn." I scoffed. For his information, Nagano and Jujiika were not the only strong teams Kanto had. In fact—

"She's stunning."

It took me several seconds to realize he was talking about Nel. I answered,

"Of course. But yours has the boobs."

"Nel-san's pair is bigger though." He reflected, as though no derision was meant, and it was plain nothing like sarcasm had ever issued from his mouth for a very long time until now. As it was, I could only stare at him, wondering what other manner of cockiness he was fantasizing about,

"…"

"I hope she makes you happy, Grimmjow."

Frankly, he was beginning to drive me nuts. Like, certified nutcase in-progress. If by now I still had yet to qualify for a slot in the fucking mental ward I'd love to know _why_. All this had started on the night of that kiss. From there, I had caught him several times _watching me_, as if in secret. But I wouldn't have known he had been furtively eyeing me if I hadn't been pulling the same creepy shit, right? So what would that make us? A couple of freaking stalkers? Since then, the backsliding of my wits had been catching speed due perhaps to the sudden appearance of my father and upcoming football matches. And now neurosis was lurking just around every corner. Why? because this dude had the nerve to imply he was frickin' jealous. The nerve of this jackass. Just who was he to complain when he had as much audacity as to hold hands with his chick and kiss her on the lips right in front of me?!

"Sure. She's lesbo." My genius mouth blurted aloud before I could stop myself. And, of course, things had to go downhill from here.

"What?"

"…" I spun around without answering.

"Is Nel-san even your girl, for real?" He was incredulous now.

"..." Moved toward the door, saying not a shit.

"That was all for show, bro?"

Fucking finally, I had had enough, and so went my mouth,

"Yeah. Fucking happy? Maybe ya wanna throw confetti in the air now, or something."

I tried to give him my blankest stare. Jesus. This was such a fucking fiasco, like some stupid irony carried to extremes. Seriously, was the word 'backfire' invented years before this very day because it had been faithfully waiting for me to fucking exist?

"Maybe." he muttered.

Maybe? Just what did this fucking Berry mean by that? Was he happy because I was single or because I could not afford a genuine girlfriend? Wait, was he even happy in the first place?

"Oh, you wanna party over my baloney show? Be my fucking guest." I said for the hell of it. Frankly, I didn't know where this stupid conversation was going. With all the stupidities prevailing here and now I might as well dial Funhouse's landline and order the fucking confetti myself.

"Sounds cool. But this makes us equal now 'cos Inoue's just for show too. She probably only consented to come to get back at Chad."

"All this fucking time? Just what the fuck?!"

He shrugged his shoulders and looked lazily around like an uncaring cocky bastard. His whole conduct could not have attracted the attention of anyone, mine for instance, had it not been for the fact that I was never disposed to ignore cheek. But he spoke again, to declare his idea of fair play,

"What, you ask, Grimmjow? How about we discard this game of _jealousy_ as it is a waste of time, particularly of yours and mine?"

So he was fucking jealous after all. _Why, this berry has his cute side too, huh? If he ain't blushing now I'd stuff myself in a fucking coffin_. But then my thoughts were suspended when I realized something. Hadn't he just implied I myself was also fucking jealous? The nerve of some people!

"Who the fuck is jealous? And it's not like I wouldn't sooner know you were pulling some baloney show." Said my lying self.

"Well, that straightens it. It's not like I didn't guess right away that Nel-san's out of your league."

"Is that a fucking challenge, Kurosaki?"

"Far from it. In fact—"

"—in fact, you're mooning around with that fucking fucker Ginjo Kugo—"

Well, angry as I was, my voice fell as soon as I had uttered the dude's name, as in a startled pause. 'Fucking fucker'—just what sort of amateurish attempt at insult was I pulling? More than that, just why did I have to bring up Kugo at a time like this when he had nothing to do with any of this shit? Anyhow, it was this defect that led me to believe I ought to stitch my lips together from time to time. Believe me, it just slipped. Fucking honest. So now there was every reason to take back what I had just said but before I found one, he spoke,

"Oh. You're jealous of Kugo-sempai too?"

For the life of me, I could not answer one damned shit. Hell, did silence always mean 'yes'? If so, fuck this shit. With my tongue thus rendered useless, I walked the fuck out, wanting to salvage my sanity and to retire to my room, but...

...he started following me.

TBC

_A/N: This note is probably gonna be a spoiler for Bleach chap 544, so STOP right here if ya haven't read it. So I keep thinking about the identity of the dude behind Chad on page 19. And there seems to be two of them. I do hope one of 'em is __**him**__, ya know, the protagonist of this fic lol. Thanks for reading by the way._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Surrender

_**Warning**: Mature contents ahead. I entreat minors and conservative folks not to read this._

**…**

"Grimmjow, will you at least explain yourself? What the hell was that all about?" The fucking Berry was kind enough to ask me, pleadingly, while he matched his strides with mine.

_Do I look like a fucking fortune teller?! _

"…" I walked on. It took every damn bit of my self-restraint to prevent myself from screaming at him.

"And last Friday—what was the meaning of that?" So he wanted to know why I had kissed him and all that unanswerable crap. As if I'd answer that shit! As if I _could_! Jesus, I couldn't even find answers to the fucking questions I'd been asking myself, much less explain whatever the fuck this was!

Just what was the use of following me? And if he had so much time in his hands that he was willing to spare some in order to bully me like this, well, in all assurances I had to do something. Since I wouldn't take any of his shit and since he wouldn't stop tailing my ass, I charged back at him without preamble, bringing about a not so distant memory…whatever the case, I found my face inches from his, but not for the world would I stop now. Although this aggression was something I had recently promised to avoid, some necessity seemed to be demanding it. So there was every motive to punch the living daylights out of him—if only he wouldn't look at me like this. He was looking at me with some sort of sympathy while he was pinned there against the wall, while I was deliberating over knocking all his teeth out, man. But without knowing in the least what went over me I released him, before storming away in banging treads. This time, he stayed where he was.

On other matters, the instant drop in the temperature encouraged nothing but sleep. At the same time, Sousuke's generous offer of a different life was tempting me. My father's voice seemed to be ringing down my fucking soul, as if I hadn't been given enough shit to worry myself about. All those years he had been the reason behind the material comfort with which mother had surrounded me. And now he was back, asking for one 'simple' thing. That one request was going to sunder me from everything I currently possessed. All of a sudden I felt so wretched.

In the next moment, however, I fell asleep.

I awoke into the soft rustling noise issuing from my door. Drowsy as I was, I kept my eyes employed. Someone had entered my room. The looming presence was approaching my bed but, while it suggested that, it revealed something more: It was fucking Ichigo again, thrusting himself into my fucking peace! This time I was fully awake and was absorbing the demands of the scene in silence. And just what was he barging in for without permission, and stealthily at that? Really, creeping in like some assassin took this shit from weird to bloodcurdling, and that was what he was doing.

When he reached my bed, moonlight fell on his face. At this point, the balance between my confusion and bewilderment tilted to the former, so that I was left guessing blindly as to the sequence of his movements. But when he bent over me, I saw clearly not only what was happening but also what was about to; he planted his fists on either side of me and propped his knees in like manner, caging me between his limbs as he stooped over me on all fours. He was on top of me.

"What the hell, you bastard?" I hissed, although I wasn't so sure about being so sore after only this…considering I had more than once assaulted him… kissed him, even. Whatever.

For all this, there was no determining whether this unprecedented shit could be substantiated in a way, at least not right away, because instead of explaining his fucking self, he dropped his entire weight on me. Now, in case this subsequent indiscretion—which was nearing _sexual assault, _mind you—had anything to do with all the nasty shit I had pulled on him, this sure as hell wasn't the perfect means of getting even—

He. Fucking. Kissed. Me. In. The. Mouth.

I almost gasped. Indeed I fucking gasped, my eyes popping wide. The kiss hit me like a wall. As I had kissed him before, I believed I had reasons to fare better than a stupefied idiot. Nevertheless, I was shocked like some stupefied idiot. To my misfortune, worse was to follow. Believe it or not, I could neither resist nor defend myself against this harassment he was pulling on me. Instead, every atom in me was begging me to allow him to finish it. All riled up and confused more than anything that lived, I allowed him to lead his tongue over the expanse of my neck, allowed everything with not so much as trying to prevent the hair on my body from standing on end. Running his mouth over my neck, my chest, he could hardly contain the tightness with which he was clutching my hip. His grip was so tight I was almost hurting. No doubt I ought to pull away in the next minute, lest my neck be covered with fucking hickeys the next day.

"Are you going away, Grimmjow?" were the first words he said.

First and foremost, I was only wearing a pair of boxers and no more than that. Since this near nakedness served all at once all the usual purpose of a sexual provocation, the same was truer still for my splendid physique. Really, my upper body should've come with a warning sign: _do not touch to avoid a hard-on_. As I was quite a handsome fellow, you'd have thought there was no extraordinary in the fact that he was hard down there already. In fact, his boner was something I could've only ignored if I had been dead. But if I were to plunge into this shit in accordance to his offering, I'd most likely end up making brotherly love seem more sexy than anyone living or dead had ever done. And must this really happen between two dudes, for fuck's sake, and stepbrothers at that too? And so I asked, just so to show him I wasn't that easy to get,

"Dafuq do you think you're doing?"

He didn't answer right away. What he did next almost took the breath out of me. He fucking shoved his palm inside my goddamned boxers and over my crotch. His clumsy movements were perhaps unplanned and most likely were due to the heat of the moment, but it seemed impossible to do that for so long by accident or some unconsciousness, so I figured he really was fucking _hot for me_.

And then I realized I also had a fucking hard-on.

"Don't go." He pursued and, when I caught a glimpse of his face, his eyes struck me as bloodshot. Well, this was something that maybe two or three people in the premise would ignore. All the same, I couldn't really ignore the way he was looking at me, much less disregard the hardness that was brushing against my thigh…

I was aroused. Like, really. It was like something in me ignited, and I knew right away what it was; sexual attraction. In between every heartbeat an extra pulsation was cramming itself, hence I was panting despite the absence of physical activity. To add on that, I started to draw him closer to me. Perhaps it was all because of the adrenaline. Really, it was like someone had shot me with enough caffeine to give an elephant some heart attack. For all this, there was no hiding my boner which was probably poking him somewhere in his pelvis. Nevertheless, I spoke,

"And how, pray tell, am I supposed to go anywhere when I'm trapped beneath you, literally?" By the time I had finished talking I was already holding him, and I couldn't remember how it all had come about. All I knew was, I wanted him close. Just why?

He shifted about, bringing his forehead closer to my lips. Out of some karmic fairness, if he was this fearless at making the first moves, he had got to be terrible at every other thing in the world. As if to further that predilection, he went on, almost pleading, yet arousing all the same,

"I heard you were going to Europe, that your biological pops is taking you away. Tell me it's not true."

My vigilance recovered its fullness here. More than allowing myself to be seduced, I was permitting him to make decisions for me. His approach was somewhat amateurish, and yet I was finding it hard to resist. Why? Had I been enthralled by this brat _right from the start_? Was that the reason why I had kissed him the other night? No; even before that, I had been losing my mind whenever he'd get so near. I had tried to kiss him in the rain, had held his hand for too long when we first shook hands, and stared like a moron at the empty spaces he'd vacate. And now he was coming on to me like some sexually challenged bloke. Frankly, he wasn't at all up to my standards as far as experience in bed was concerned. This simply meant it was impractical of me and fruitless altogether to submit to this type of seduction, as he had _nothing_ much to offer, because he obviously was a fucking virgin. Except that this also meant escape was impossible for me… because I grabbed him by the neck, to kiss him like some ravenous lecher. I pressed my lips against his, and no sooner than he parted them asunder did I begin devouring the insides of his mouth with fervor. And because I was no stranger to groping, I was running my palms over every exposed skin I could get my hands on, as if raking his flesh. When the time came to pry our mouths apart, I told him, my lips curling,

"That remains to be seen, brother. For now, mind getting off me?"

Suddenly he appeared crestfallen. Rolling himself on my side, he heaved a sigh, whereby I alighted from the bed.

"Where are you going, Grimmjow?"

"Door. You left it ajar, if you haven't noticed. I realized just now that I want it fucking locked."

The smile I was wearing perhaps didn't translate well to any well-meaning intent, but he returned the smile, grinning like he was god's gift to women… to me, above all. When I got back at his side, some fresh longing was all too apparent in him. Maybe this was something against which I had no power, because otherwise I had no excuse not to avoid what was to come about.

"My bad." he apologized.

"Since you're asking for it, I'm gonna ask you to spend the night. And, oh, I'll be on top if ya don't mind."

I dove into a pit, and into the unknown regions of the night. This sexual interaction was progressing so fast we both didn't know where to draw the lines anymore. This was, if anything, a frightful example of letting one's self go, of giving up that part of yourself of which you had always been thoroughly proud. I had been proud of my masculinity and my domineering nature, infallibly, and now I was asking for permission. Yet whether or not I wished to connect the dots could not be ascertained at the moment. Right now, there was no stopping my hands from stripping him out of his clothing. Right now, the hardness between my legs could only be satiated by his carnal offering.

"Be on top for all I care, but tell me you're not letting your father take you away."

"Why, Kurosaki, suddenly you're this attached to me. Is it because you want your virginity to be ripped apart by me, your brother, of all fucking pricks? I'll do it if you won't scream so loud."

"I believe it's the other way around. You seem to have busted your nuts a while ago when I kissed you." When he said that he ran a palm over my dick, and it excited me to the high fucking heavens.

"Very well, then. I believe we should fuck."

He was out of his clothing faster than a wink. As there was no shortage of the dirty things I wanted to do to him, the sight of his nakedness was like an adrenaline shot straight into my heart. I sucked his nipples just then, all the lust—the vague longing—I had been suppressing right from the start crystallizing into this very moment. And because tasting his flesh wasn't enough, I found my hand jacking him off like I would jack myself. I didn't mind that he was so sticky with pre-cum down there this early, as it must have been my fault anyway. Yes, this was pleasure as I had never known it.

Truth was, I had never fucked a dude before. I didn't know how it was done and not in my wildest dreams had I dreamed I'd find myself in this situation. But here I was, confronted by this in its fullness. Well, I guessed nothing helped sexual intercourse more than having a good foreplay to start with. It was perhaps the exact same thought in his mind, for he now lowered his head to suck me. When he did, I felt myself being transported to lord knew what realms. By proceeding in a gradual pace, he kept me riveted to the sensation. Indeed it was so different from the whore, who tended to suck so hard she could've decimated my sperm count at one point. So, as I was so impressed by his little show, I grabbed him by the hair, well aware of the task at hand; I had to come.

"Are you nearing it?"

"Almost there." I closed my eyes, my voice unsteady, teeth clenched and brows knitted as if to accommodate pain or extreme pleasure, if only to press back the sounds coming outta my mouth. But he worked on more vigorously this time, his tongue slithering over the whole length of the hardness that was my cock, while now and again he would pause to maybe have me begging for continuation. As it was, I blew my load in his mouth, and the amount was startlingly sumptuous, so startlingly sumptuous as to have some spilling from the corners of his mouth. Reddened by his commendable performance and panting profusely, he sat up.

"That's quite a lot." He observed, sweeping the sticky white substance off his chin with the back of his palm.

"Must I apologize?"

Instead of letting himself be positioned the way I wanted him to, he caught me off guard by shoving his tongue in my mouth. Just then I realized I was tasting not only his saliva but also my… I pulled hastily away.

"What?"

"Jerk. That's my own you're putting in my mouth."

"So? Aren't you too fucking horny to care?" He seemed irritated, and his tone of voice hinted at the level of impatience he was willing to show should I postpone our activities.

"Fine. Fair enough."

I pushed him down the bed, heaved myself on top of him, and shoved my tongue far down his throat. Before long I pulled away and proceeded to do something I had never done before; suck a cock. But he had been hard right from the start, and there was nothing to convey that his arousal was effacing anytime soon. My total lack of experience in giving head would perhaps limit the appeal of an otherwise purely lascivious deed, so I resolved to pleasure him as best as I could, to the best of my creativity. I went down on him, while he yanked me by the hair so tightly, almost violently, all the more fuelling my lust. I couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get past wanting to shove the whole of his manhood down my throat, to suck him dry until he was limp, to fucking taste, swallow and savor all he had to ejaculate.

Just what sort of mess, exactly, was I shoving myself into?

TBC

_A/N: Okay, I'm sorry. This the first time I wrote something what you may consider explicit, I think. I just figured it had to be somehow written just to show how they start. Well, to be honest I'm not fond of writing this kind of stuff, but in this event it seems unavoidable. Thanks for reading!_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Aftermath

…

In the morning I woke up to, all Ichigo had left were strands of hair whose reason for being there spoke of nothing but scandal. All that had happened on the night prior started to weigh down on me. I was probably altogether exhilarated by the suddenness of it all but perhaps the thrill was dangerous, forbidden even. Before my wits fully descended on me, however, a forestalled figure was in the doorway.

"It's already quarter to seven, mister. I thought I could count on you to wake up in time for school?" Mother said.

"I didn't get enough sleep."

"Your father called me early this morning. He told me you haven't given him your answer. When is he having it?"

I looked up at her, finding in her face neither severity nor mildness of conduct.

"That early? Shouldn't he be adjusting his goddamned Rolex already? And why the hell is he so fucking impatient anyway?"

"He's being good to you. I expect you respect him just as well. Now take your shower and get down to breakfast after."

…

At lunch time at school, my dreaded score in the latest math exam preserved me from listlessness. While it also was necessary to lodge my stepbrother off my mind, at least temporarily, thoughts of him hardly translated to any form of apprehension. After all, I didn't screw him all the way, partly because… I didn't know how to. All this was racing in and out of my head when Ulquiorra dumped his food tray on my table.

"Not joining the girls and the jocks?" He gestured at the group of cheerleaders who were lunching with the very popular Hisagi Shuhei and the rest of the team. Just then, our Linebacker Shawlong Koufang and Linemen Di Roy and Nakeem Grindina started to stuff hotdogs in their mouths in close successions as if there was gonna be a worldwide hotdog shortage starting tomorrow. For a reason, the sight was making me recall last night's events. As a matter of fact, I could hardly get past getting offended. But then this was just the same old stupid hotdog-eating contest these morons regularly pulled in order to impress the fucking females. To these doofuses' misfortune, the girls were giggling at Hisagi and Ylfordt Grantz, the other Linebacker, never minding the three's antics.

"They're noisy as fuck. Anyway, your lovely sister did stick her knee in my nutsack, just so you know."

Ulquiorra was about to remark on it when Nnoitora Jiruga showed up and, without meaning to appear courteous, interrupted,

"Grimmjow, I need you to come with me after your training at Number 15 Embankment. We're gonna have lots of fun."

Fun, if it so came from Jiruga's mouth, merely equated to any of the following: shoving crystal meth in your nose, street brawl with good-for-nothing punks, or taking prostitutes home. As I was in no mood for any of these, I made a motion to decline but, to my surprise, Ulquiorra muttered first,

"Filth."

"What was that, _faggot_?" Jiruga was hissing the words, and the promising look of wrath on his face was hard to overlook. I, on the other hand, winced at the word 'faggot', for some reason.

"Cut it out, Jiruga. I ain't going anywhere with you. And just for you to be informed, I'm talking to Ulquiorra here."

"You're choosing this _drag _over me? The fuck, Grimmy—"

"—is there a problem here?" A voice that neither belonged to me nor Ulquiorra snipped through.

It was Starrk.

There was something almost fascinating about the silence that followed, what with my teammates craning their necks toward us. As for Starrk, he had just been trooping past, a carton of milk in hand, when he had overheard Jiruga's disagreeable rejoinder. He was, by the way, not very fond of riots and disorder simply because things like that so often got in the way of his attempts at sleeping. But Ulquiorra now had lowered his gaze so that I knew exactly the reason why he was acting like this, but not what he sought to gain by staring blankly at the stupid table.

"Yeah. Obviously. These _fucking _joy-killing pricks are getting on my nerves." Jiruga explained, his index finger flying at me and the defenseless Ulquiorra.

It then appeared to me that I could not receive this with calmness, as I was with scarcely any means of ignoring shit hurled at me. That was because I was a bastard myself. But before I could give Jiruga a nice jolt in the fucking chest, Starrk grabbed him by the wrist and yanked his arm away from Ulquiorra, with force. He warned,

"Listen here, Jiruga. You conduct stuff like this again and I'll personally take care of you. How's that?"

Just what the fuck was happening? All of a sudden Starrk, the king of I-Care-for-Fucking-Nothing, was dipping his nose where it didn't belong. Well, maybe, just maybe, I fucking knew what was happening. Maybe I fucking knew this lazy asshole was trying to impress someone. As soon as he was done threatening, Jiruga marched around and disappeared into the nearest doorway, cursing under his breath. For my part, I was all set up to tell Starrk I could've had handled the prick and that he had no fucking business here. So unless he could grant me that _one great thing _I had been asking of him for donkey months now, he should better clear the fuck out before I rammed something in his crotch. Instead, he sat down _beside _Ulquiorra. At that, all went back too normal, except my temper.

"That was unnecessary." Ulquiorra lectured Starrk.

Should one take a closer look, the pale bloke was starting to show traces of uneasiness. But if one was to take a really, really close look, Ulquiorra's heart was thumping away like a bastard inside his fucking ribcage, all the more so because Starrk was studying him in a very calculating manner. Until now, I had had no knowledge that this sleep-obsessed prat was capable of looking somewhat awake.

"Just thought I'd give you a hand. Anyway, mom's cooking lasagna tonight, or so she says. She wants you to come over." Starrk invited Ulquiorra before turning to me, perfunctorily, "Wanna join us, _Grimmy_?"

"No." Was my flat answer.

"..." Was Starrk's wordless response, but he was looking more awake now aside from appearing thoroughly taken aback, offended even.

Before I could stop myself, my mouth betrayed me and so it motored away,

"I want you to fucking join _me_, Starrk. Come back to the fucking team, for fuck's sake. We're up against Juujika in two days and you know I'm in desperate need of anyone who at least knows what a fucking pigskin looks like."

Jesus. I had never begged for anything in my life before this. It so happened this bastard, Starrk, was the fucking football-deserter whom we were desperate to re-recruit. In the middle of our freshman year, he had quit the team under some shitty reason concerning family problems, and since then had never set foot on the field. Talk about lame fucking excuses. Chances were, being the lazy prick that he was, most likely the training sched had gotten to his tits. Nevertheless, taking into account how physically fit and versatile he had been, Starrk would've been captain now instead of me if only he had stayed long enough. That was because he could've played any freaking position except QB and RB. When he and I had shown up at the football try-outs in our freshman year, Kensei-sensei had had his reservations; I had been cocky right from the beginning while Starrk had made it a point to show irritation for the noise coming from the team. But when the time came for us to sprint the forty-meter dash and to ram the tackle dummies, everyone present that day could not have forgotten the look on coach's eyes. At that moment, coach Muruguma's dreams came true. As it was, coach was always ready to grovel on his knees if only to convince this bastard to come back. But nothing gave. As of now, he still wouldn't give in.

"See ya later." He rested one palm on Ulquiorra's left shoulder, using it to hoist himself up. And then he went poof, ignoring me just like that. His royal jockness, ignored. Well, that went fucking well. I could almost congratulate myself for being the most insulted dude in the whole fucking universe as of the moment.

"I didn't know you were _back _on friendly terms." I started angrily at Ulquiorra, feeling betrayed.

"Two weeks ago he asked me to tutor him in Physics. He's been spending two hours at my place on Wednesdays and Thursdays right after school." was his explanation.

So Ulquiorra had no time to fucking watch my training drills, much less walk with me home but he had some to spare for that lazy prick. Wonderful. And just as I was aware of his feelings for that deserter, I was even more so of his hopes. For all I knew, Ulquiorra wanted more than tutoring that asshole. And so I spoke with frustration,

"If you wanted a broken heart you should've told me in the first place. I'd have driven a stake straight into your heart or something. That should save you the fucking trouble. Jesus, why the hell am I still yapping about him?"

It took him a while to answer, by which time he was already back to being some sort of a blunt bastard.

"Are you by any chance _jealous_, Grimmjow?"

_Here we go again with this fucking stupid J-word_. Don't get me wrong. I had no feelings for Ulquiorra other than what the longevity of our friendship exacted. But, hell, if he had been chucking my company to spend a few hours with Starrk for some flirting spree, man, I had a right as much as anyone else to fucking feel… something.

"Who the fuck is jealous? Just so you know, I want him back more than having you as company."

"It was a rhetorical question. Anyway, you mentioned some sort of a dilemma some nights ago."

Anxious to change the subject, I let my mind be occupied by Ichigo. Before long, his name went out my mouth,

"Ichigo. There, I said it. Let's quit yapping about Starrk for a change. Really, I want to skewer the bastard."

"Why are you so _obsessed _with Starrk? Can't you bully a freshman or a sophomore into joining the team?"

"Know what, let's change the fucking subject."

"Right. So Ichigo is your stepbrother, right? Nel told me he has a charming girlfriend. What about him?"

"That's not his girlfriend."

"Sis would be delighted."

"Whatever."

"So what is it? Have you gotten our math teacher pregnant?"

"Keep your fucking voice down." I warned.

"Is she preggy?"

"I've stopped screwing her." I muttered. His head tilted slightly to express approval.

"Good."

"I told you my problem is about my fucking stepbrother."

On one pretext or another, he tried to maintain an air of interest, perhaps just so to demonstrate he was sick of my digressions. But it was on the intellectual and perceptive side of him, and there alone, that no failure could be found. As his shrewdness was unlike any other, he managed to guess,

"Are you in love with your new brother, Grimmjow?"

"Keep your fucking voice down!" I cried aloud before I could contain myself. Naturally, dozens of eyes were steering in our direction. In fact, Hisagi gave me an inquiring thumbs-up as if to ask 'Everything okay?' from across two tables.

"Why so upset? But…are you?" Ulquiorra pressed, his interest growing earnest this time.

"I don't think I am. But I bedded him last night."

"…" If his face could get any blanker, I probably didn't know him all that well.

"I didn't go all the way, though."

"…" Another blank face for a fucking answer.

"I know you're incapable of laughing, you bastard, but I'm sure as hell something inside yourself is snickering all over the place now."

"On the contrary, I'm impressed."

"By what?"

"Your honesty. I'm honestly not laughing."

As if he could fucking laugh. I was surprised he even knew what the word meant. But I remembered having sniggered like a fucking hyena when I had finally gotten around to make him admit his feelings for Starrk, who I so wanted to strangle at the moment. At that time, I was merely finding it hard to associate Ulquiorra's emotional capacity with something as heavy as infatuation, and nothing more.

"Pffft. You can start right about now."

"Well, it's rather odd that you're looking at it as a problem."

"He's my stepbrother, for crying out loud."

"So?"

"So, you ask? How about fucking incest?"

"You're not blood related."

"Sheesh. You and your fucking morality."

"It's my logic that's talking."

Just then I remembered something. I remembered the choices my father had laid out before me. But slowly I was seeing the abruptness of my feelings for my stepbrother as something which neither time nor great opportunities would make me forget. In fact, the more I dwelled on the matter, the more confused I became.

"Dude, I was supposed to tell you that my biological father suddenly popped up out of nowhere, like fucking daisies. He wants me to continue my studies abroad, in Europe or even in America, of all fucking places."

"That's great news."

"Great? Are you cocksure?"

"Yes. If it were me, I'd do anything to make it to Cambridge or Oxford." He said, but, of course, he was speaking for his genius self alone.

"Fuck that. As if my two brain cells would qualify for that shit."

"You're _right_. Universities like that would give your two brain cells some serious frying." He agreed, never realizing what his callous remark could earn for him.

"Fuck you."

"I suggest you grab the chance. You may stay there for a year or two, and if you happen to end up displeased by the Western lands you can, I believe, persuade your father to do as you please, to return here."

"Two fucking years? Who has that much time to spare?"

"You, and every teenager for that matter."

"Now you don't understand—"

"—I think I understand _perfectly _well, Grimmjow." He interjected with emphasis. At the same time the school bell rang. As he was the most punctual bastard in school, I was disposed to think he wouldn't complete his remark and would skip toward his next class like some deranged secretary running late for a meeting. But he ignored the bell and looked at me square in the face to say, "One month ago, you would have flown off with your father with only football to have you thinking twice. But your charming stepbrother came into the picture, thwarting all at once your father's plans for you."

It was my turn to stare blankly. In time, a couple of urges came over me; to strangle Ulquiorra, if not to demand that he expound on his statement. But then neither of the two could be entirely attributed to some lapse in judgment on his part, simply because he was _never _wrong.

I realized he was, in more ways than one, right. Still, I went on to mutter,

"I live for football; make no mistake about that. NFL, man. If I go to America for college..."

"Grimmjow, dreams change over time—for some of us anyway."

He might have a point. Whatever the case, Ichigo and I would find ourselves beneath my sheets tonight.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Brother, My Brother

A/N: This may have explicit contents. I wish the kids would skip this chap or not read this story. And, oh, this is a pointless chapter by the way.

…

I had just arrived at Sousuke's place. Having stressed he had very limited time of stay here in Japan, he insisted I procure him a decided answer as to whether I should stay here or fly off to his motherland or to America. Because the pressure he was imposing was somewhat getting on my tits, I went all blunt and told him straight out I was fucking Japanese and not a Spaniard, much less American. As a result, his speech grew more hypocritical and went as far as to state I owed everything to fortune and to whatever opportunity he was proposing, so it had nothing to do with heritage. In the end, we parted with bordering-on-bitter words, and there was even a point where I almost buried a fist in his stomach. But he embraced me before I contemptuously stuffed myself in his shiny black car, whereby I became wholly convinced this dude was hell bent on taking me away. He, again, gave me more time to decide.

At home, I found my room occupied by an intruder, who happened to be Ichigo, my stepbrother, my lover and fucker—all rolled into one. He was playing Uncharted and was too absorbed to shoot me a glance. The sight of him had me recalling my earlier anxiety in wanting to get the fuck out of Sousuke's house. But the anxiety could not be attributed to either the bitter words my father and I had exchanged or to the somberness of the interior of his house. I had been anxious to get away because I could barely wait to spend the night with this dude. What a sick desire it was that had been pursuing me all along. And yet I figured guilt could just fuck itself. So I closed the door shut, with the clear intention of fucking him for real this time, condoms or no, when I was greeted by _another _presence.

Szayel was with him. I hadn't noticed the little runt initially because he had himself wrapped in a fucking blanket as he lounged on the rug on his tummy. As it was, my frustrations were poking at me left, right and center.

"It's way past your bedtime, Szayel." I said, dejected and annoyed all the same.

As expected, he ignored me, to which Ichigo flashed an apologetic grin.

"It's only nine in the evening." Ichigo spoke on the runt's defense, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"So? I want him out." I demanded before I could stop myself. But, again, what use would there be in restraining my language when the little brat would not mind me even if I were to do my nuts or set the floor on fire?

"You tired? Must I go too, bro?" Stepbrother asked. It was, for the most part, an innocent query. However, if he was daft enough to miss my goddamned hard-on, he probably was in dire need of a pair of reading glasses.

Upon hearing his question, I figured there couldn't be a more admirable example of stupidity anywhere in the world. Since nothing was going in accordance to my ideals and no one was taking the trouble to take a freaking hint, I pressed the pause button on the controller he was holding, grabbed his head and pressed his ear against my lips, to whisper,

"I wish to fuck, and get inside your pants. So badly. In fact, I was skipping my steps to get home. But then I find this brat here and you go about asking me if you ought to vacate my room."

His cheeks went red, perhaps to imply he was more cautious than adventurous, thereby disappointing me. Uncharted dangled unattended, with only the random sound of background music to intervene between the gazes we were exchanging. In that exchange, my lust was conferred upon him in no less subtlety had I uttered the word 'fuck' directly. Without a doubt, the resolve to undress him here and now was overcoming me, but it wasn't gonna fucking happen because,

"Are you hurting Ichigo'th headth?" Szayel piped up.

Little bro's voice brought me to a standstill. I had forgotten him right from the moment Ichigo had turned his face to me. So what was this, some kind of a joke? If I talked straight to Szayel's face he would ignore me flat-out. And if I so much as grabbed his stepbro's head he'd go on asking if I were doing something to hurt his new big bro. What the fuck.

"Er, no. He's not hurting me. How about I take you to your mom?" Ichigo offered Szayel.

"No!" was the petulant brat's reply.

As for me, I would have thought no more of necking Ichigo in full view of anyone than flicking the goddamned lights out. But, as stepbro was more conservative than I had initially thought, I opted to wait for the brat to fall asleep on the floor. In what must have been an hour, his eyes started to close on their own.

"I'll carry the brat down." I proposed, to which Ichigo shook his head.

"Let me, and stop calling him a brat." With scarcely any difficulty, he lifted my brother off my carpet to deliver him to our parents' room.

By the time he was back, his jeans had been replaced by a pair of pajamas, perhaps for easy access. As such, I couldn't tell how far self-restraint might have originally been at my side, but I could say I was more than willing to throw it away anytime now. To move on, he allowed himself to be pulled into bed, whereas my ineptitude in undressing was demonstrated as I unbuttoned my top and slipped off my jeans. I was, above all, a fucker of no ordinary merit. That clear, the excitement I was giving him and myself was something which was unlikely to occur in the imagination of an average thinker. On and on, every inhibition was sliding away, so that there was nothing left to do but to really go all the way. And because we both knew it was heading that way and no other, our arousal became so primal it was a question whether something this lasting could ever abate.

"Do you want this?" I inquired, my lips cracking into utter wickedness, although I would do it anyway regardless of his consent or its absence. I was a bastard, after all.

"Are you seriously asking me that?"

"This is gonna hurt, ya know."

He pulled me by the neck to insert his tongue in my left ear, sending what felt like an electric shock through me.

"Didn't you say earlier that you wished to fuck, so badly? Well, I wish to be fucked, Grimmjow, just as badly."

That drove me to the end of my wits. Then and there my resolve to take one bloody step at a time was obliterated. This was, after all, going to be too rough, too wild a night. Because we were both athletes the intensity of what was to follow would pretty much testify to our athletic someone who couldn't be bothered with fine-tuning, I stuck my thing inside him without as much as bothering with preliminaries. He was tight. Hell, there wasn't even any available lubricant around, which pretty much meant none of this was bound to be visually appealing. But we were thrilled to the most ridiculous of extremities, and as a result we simply found ourselves betraying our more cautious sides. If the sounds we were making weren't the same, I was pretty sure they only differed in volume. Much later on, I heard myself ask with the same mocking manner of speaking I was known for,

"Are you okay?"

"You can say I am." He answered, subdued.

Several minutes must have elapsed. In that enclosure of time, countless thoughts swirled past me. Despite the pleasure, despite the thrill, I was left questioning the pacing of all this. It was just so sudden it was almost scary. He swept me off my feet, with hardly an interval between seduction and submission, without giving me an opportunity to examine my feelings. And so my voice, while my mind was fumbling about, flowed out of me,

"Hey, what do you think this is?"

He pushed me off him, gathered his breath and closed his eyes, his calmness unnerving. He was pissed.

"What does it look like?"

"Hell if I know."

"If you haven't noticed, you've recently ripped apart something that's precious to me; my fucking virginity. So next time you have questions like that, ask yourself."

I felt that the lapse of five minutes had hardly served to weaken the effects of our recent occupation. I was beginning to get hard again. But I muttered,

"I'm sure you hated me at first glance."

"I'm sure you hated me too at first glance but wanted to bed me all the same." He said.

To his credit, he was at least half right. Admittedly, I had wanted to bed him from day two, but the need to appear like a badass had overtaken me. Impressing him had appeared to me a very essential task. On that pretext, I had resorted to trash-talk him, to insult and threaten him even. Jesus. The things teenagers would do.

"Guilty as charged. And yet, somehow, your eyes—I mean the way you looked at me—annoyed the shit out of me. I didn't need sympathy or any pathetic nitshit. I'm a fucking jock, for crying out loud."

"Well, for starters, you didn't seem to be particularly enjoying yourself, Grimmjow."

Until he turned his head to me, I didn't gauge how attracted I was to him. What I was feeling now, it seemed, trumped every rule of attraction I had followed in the past. Homosexuality wasn't something I had ever had the urge to practice. It should then follow that what I was now feeling for this dude simply transcended boundaries and every factor I might have been deemed worth considering in the past. Gender, for one thing. If ever I believed in destiny or some similar bollocks, this might be it; I was fated to bed my stepbrother, to be mastered by attraction, with or without my principles and preferences taken into account. And right now I could not tell affection or lust apart. But perhaps I was being swallowed by both, equally in degree. I didn't know.

"So you pitied me. I get it."

"Well…"

"Just goddamn say it." My voice was raising beyond its accustomed irritation.

"You looked sad. From the moment I saw you I figured you were somehow, I dunno, tired of everything. I figured your one passion was sports but you looked as though you couldn't stand everything else, so I…"

"You wanted to comfort me. Dazzling." I grumbled sarcastically.

"At first, yeah. But at that time in the rain when I followed you, I thought you were gonna kiss me. You didn't, and I still don't know if I would've allowed it at that time."

"I meant to, but I would've looked like some demented sex offender if I had done that."

He was silent for a while and I was forced to accept this as a meaning that he had somewhat known it all along. Was I always so fucking obvious? I felt like a retard, really.

"You know, when you walked out at that time, something struck me. I fancied I could help you, change you, even _save _you, and at the same time it occurred to me that I wanted you, badly. You're hot as fuck but that wasn't it. I have always been _straight_. I think I still am because I still turn my head at women. Out of all that, the feeling kinda burned on and on, and then I heard your mom and my dad talking about your pops taking you away, like maybe forever. It was that which told me I had to act, or else..."

"And so you barged into my fucking room. Wise choice." This time I had to smirk.

"I had to, else we'd be…Grimmjow, won't you _stay_—here in Japan?"

I didn't answer right away. But when I did, I had to stop myself from pulling him to me, if only to distract my mind from that larger than life issue; could I really leave this place—this brat? If I had plans to or believed I could, no doubt I had to cut him off now, otherwise I'd be risking plunging deeper, only to do much more damage in the future. Wait, was I starting to care already? But I challenged anyway, without understanding what I was trying to do,

"Make me."

"Make you what?"

"Stay, maybe."

With those words I managed to stir him completely awake, in spite of the lateness of the hour. All the same, I realized I had been dissatisfied with my life before he had come on to me, that football was the only thing which had been keeping my act together. But as he now lay his head upon me, his breathing audible, I knew this dude would never be truly capable of hurting me, of leaving me for someone else, not even for fucking Aphrodite herself if she ever existed. I was feeling like everything was where they should be. Now staring at the ceiling and listening to nothing, I knew I would never grow tired of this.

_Never leave my bed, Kurosaki, _was what I was saying to myself. Still, my ambitions remained just as immovable as this attraction—whatever one might call it.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: The Lone Wolf

A/N: StarrkUlqui chapter. You can skip this because this has no relevance whatsoever. And lol I want this finished before the year ends because I'll most likely be busy in the next six months. Enjoy!

…

Again, we were being swept off by Juujika. Only this time, we were getting smashed for real and not in a practice match. Fuck Abarai, fuck Hidetomo and, above all, fuck Starrk. But I wasn't one to talk, was I? Because I myself had got sacked twice—by the same person. Renji Abarai. Abarai was chiefly a defensive player, whose physical strength could not be outplayed by anything less than the speed of light. For some reason, he was currently also playing on offense today, as second RB. With that sort of versatility, no one could've credited him for anything less than a fiend. But his athletic successes would not be forwarded had it not been for Juujika's tactician who also happened to be quarterback and the team captain. Kajoumaru Hidetomo was a fucking genius who specialized in mind games. It was nearly impossible to read through his signals and plays unless you were some sort of a psychic.

So while the opponent was taking possession after possession, coach was beginning to do his nuts. The ball was, after all, hating us with all the soul it had. I was sitting on the bench, watching our defense team make fools of themselves as though they were a bunch of helpless middle schoolers, when coach blared at me, his volume almost knocking the cup of Gatorade I was holding,

"Grimmjow! Get yourself and Shuhei on the fucking defensive before third Down. I want Abarai subdued and their Offensive Line destroyed, do you hear me?!"

Hisagi looked as though he was going to pee his pants. Pissing one's self aside, players like Hisagi and I seldom played on defense, and half of the time such opportunity was given us whenever coach Muruguma was running out of options. This time, he was out of options. Instead of reserving my and Hisagi's energy for the upcoming possession, he gambled his way out with the best of his cards. Hisagi and I were his best players. Obligingly, we both assumed the Safety positions, docilely, hoping against hope for this purgatory to end. By the end of the first half, however, the score was 12 to 29, which meant that, following each of our two touchdowns, we had failed to make a one-point or a two-point conversion. And that, of course, brought my thoughts back to Starrk.

"What the hell is happening?" I asked the team during a timeout on the second half.

"That Abarai is happening." Was the answer I received from Di Roy.

"Never mind that bastard." I remarked, passed a quick glance over every head around me, and resumed, "Omaeda, I want you to break through their Offensive Line in less than three seconds. Understand, Linemen? Shuhei, ya heard coach. You ain't called the Cheetah for nothing. You're faster than Abarai which pretty much suggests there's no victory for us if ya can't shove his face in the mud. Ylfordt, and Shawlong, assist the Cheetah on this. We'll go on with the same formation; only this time I want it to work."

"I'll do it. If they gain more than two yards, feel free to drive a football into my crotch after the game." Hisagi assured, with extraordinary confidence. But the next thing he spoke boded the dark turn of events which awaited us. He continued, "The real problem is our offense. We can't push through without try-for-points, can't even go for successful onside kicks. We're getting more touchbacks than ball safeties. Unless we opt for a two-point conversion all the time, which would be a bitch to pull, we'll—"

"—Forget the goalposts for now! We're on Defense, damn it. I don't wanna hear your stupid whining!" Coach roared behind us, to which Hisagi frowned miserably. Just like that, the matter was settled as if it could be done as easily as it was said.

"Okay, then. Looks like I'll have to kill Abarai for real." Hisagi muttered to himself, dejected, while he buckled his helmet.

During the next set of plays, it became clear to me why Hisagi Shuhei was the ace of the team and no one else. All those minutes he had sat on the bench or had gotten outdone by Abarai, he had been, apart from our knowledge, analyzing his opponent's singularities. Sure, we had superb Linebackers like Ylfordt Grantz and Shawlong Koufang, but within the team no one was as fierce, nor as talented, as our RB. Thus it happened, in Juujika's fourth attempt to gain yards, when Renji Abarai was finally pinned down to the ground by our glorious Running Back, who almost managed to make a fumbled ball in the process.

"So you've finally unleashed the fucking beast? Did you see the look on Abarai's face? He was just about to make a fucking desperate punt kick!" I told him and, with that, both our convictions to win were renewed.

His speed was unnerving; I could give him that. On our next possession, streaming past every fucking Linebacker and Safety on the field, he could damn well leave every play to himself once I handed the ball to him. My cards from hereon were limited to back-passes and handoffs. Since there was no stopping our genius Running Back, within minutes the scores rallied into closer figures. But this didn't mean Abarai and Hidetomo accepted the blows without retaliation. Indeed their movements became more and more aggressive with every play that followed.

In the end, our strength in running alone decided the outcome of the match. Silently and calmly, Hidetomo Kajoumaru accepted that, against Hisagi's lightning speed and learning curve, _nothing _could be done. _Feel the wrath of a once-in-a-generation Running Back, bastards, _I was thinking. The scoreboard now glowed with blatant digits, reading 44 and 42 in our favor with zero minutes remaining, our comeback stupefying everyone in the crowd and in the opposing team alike. This particular victory was intoxicating unlike any other, because it also meant we were entering the regional finals. Meanwhile, Renji Abarai and Hisagi were exchanging modest words on the sideline, their postures awkward. While a number of things were happening, including the forwarding of congratulatory words all around me, Hidetomo, perhaps the most mature team captain high school had ever seen, held his hand to me and said,

"Grimmjow, thank you for the wonderful game. My high school football journey ends here. With that, the least I can do is to wish you luck for the next match. Kyoushin Gakuen, dubbed the strongest in Kanto, is next and you know who to watch out for; the Twin Dragons, Madarame and Ayasegawa."

"So I've heard. But you and I both know who's now sitting on the throne. So for everyone's satisfaction, we will crush Karakura Wolves when the time comes."

"Ah, yes, Ginjo Kugo, the 'Alpha Male' aka the _strongest _quarterback in Tohoku; Many believe Karakura will eventually crush last year's champion now that the Alpha has come to be its captain. It's been my dream to defeat him with my wits and Renji's talents… I caught sight of him on the bleachers earlier, right behind the bench—there he is."

Jujiika's captain gestured toward my left. In the space of time where I turned my eyes on the appointed direction, everything else in my surrounding receded to sheer echoes. Hidetomo's parting nod barely registered to me. All I was aware of was the presence of this third quarterback. Yes, there he was, Ginjo Kugo, standing tall amid the relentless spectators and beaming amid the obscurity. He was looking at _me_. I couldn't tell what sort of understanding passed on between us, but somehow I deduced we were both under no illusions of being entitled to undermine each other's capabilities. Bottom line was, he was strong but the same could be said of me.

_Come, Grimmjow_. He seemed to be beckoning me. I was all set up to return the favor when something from the vicinity of my vision caught my attention; Ichigo was sitting beside him. For reasons best known to me, their proximity with one another was disquieting, even as Ichigo was beaming at me. To my relief, I was rescued from this sordid staring match by Yadomaru who, not without irritation, shook me off my current state,

"How long are you planning on spacing out like that?"

…

On the parking lot, our victory seemed to lend a certain charm to the athletes. But I made my way heedlessly to my mother's car, which I had borrowed earlier today, my haste making it immediately obvious that I'd rather not get assailed by the stupid cheerleaders. By this time, the Juujika Gakuen students who had come to watch their team get crushed most likely had all gone home. On the other hand, it was possible Ichigo had hitched a ride with Kugo, with whom he appeared to get along very well; an idea which bothered me. A lot.

Just then, a group of scantily-clad sophomore girls came into view, completely ignoring my less popular teammates. As not a square inch of space surrounding Hisagi, Ylfordt and Omaeda was available for further human occupation, these chicks chose me as their next target. Luckily, Ulquiorra appeared behind them, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else in the world. Smiling at the girls' direction, I waved my hand up in the air, to which they responded by hastening their steps and giggling uncontrollably. But I was not so sadistic as to leave them long in suspense, so I called out,

"Ulquiorra! Here, mate!"

At that, the bimbos scowled in dejection, turned around to find my friend idling behind them, and yet they remained unfazed. Upon reaching me, one of them spoke,

"Jaguar King, we were wondering if you'd want to drop by tonight. I'm hosting a party at my house, and almost every Panther is coming. It would be a blast if the super quarterback consented to come."

"I'd love to, but my fucking _boyfriend _has come to pick me up." I said with a straight face, gesturing at Ulquiorra whose eyes widened in what probably was mortification.

"Oh, you're really funny, Grimmy! But come now." Girl #2 pleaded.

As a rule, I always tried not to growl at girls, including Yadomaru at the height of her nagging tirades. Hence I merely stuffed my bag at the backseat, to imply the firmness of my resolve, and answered,

"Here's how it is: I ma split the fuck out for—"

"—We've scheduled a romantic dinner tonight. So unless you girls wish to ruin our pre-arranged date..." Ulquiorra, with the best of his humor and a deadpan expression, butted in. Until now, I had had no idea he was prone to contemplate terrible forms of amusement, like what he had just shown, but I was all ready to give him a high five anyway.

Not waiting for elaboration, the women cleared out. Whether they believed me and Ulquiorra or not was open to suggestions. I couldn't really care less.

"I'd have preferred a mellower alternative but that would do." I told Ulquiorra with feigned reproach.

"You started it."

"What do you want?"

"We need to talk… and, oh, congratulations." He answered before installing himself on the passenger seat without as much as awaiting invitation. This simply meant I was going to drive him home while he yapped about something of relative importance. Having established that much, I secured myself behind the wheel and cracked the engine into a start. Before long, we were streaming past buildings.

"Start talking."

"Starrk."

"What, are you two dating or something?"

"Cut it out, Grimmjow."

"Then why the hell are we talking about that fucking prick? You know I hate him to the core, dammit. We almost got eliminated for good, in this match of all fucking matches, because he wouldn't fucking—"

"—remember when we were in middle school? You two were inseparable, like twins."

"…"

My silence was a clear indication of what Starrk meant to me, as a lost teammate and as an estranged friend. For whatever discretion, Ulquiorra showed at first no open knowledge of what I was presently feeling, but soon it became evident that he and I had been sharing the same sentiment for two years now.

"I was like the third wheel, tagging around with you two." He started without elaborating. In fact, he had been like some snotty wannabe with no friends. Starrk and I had been the tallest, most popular, and most athletic kids in the batch, and everyone had looked up to us. But, as chance would have it, we had come to accept Ulquiorra into our two-men circle. That was way back in middle school. Two years ago Starrk had decided to distance himself not only from me but also from Ulquiorra. I had reasons to believe he had done that because otherwise I'd have been the one who would've gone solo, friendless. Since then he had been the lone wolf. I had always known it had been a huge sacrifice on his part, so for that very reason I hadn't had the shamelessness to confront him nor to demand he explain himself. For Ulquiorra's part, he had chosen to respect Starrk's decision by staying beside me. Ulquiorra continued, "The point is, what the hell happened to us? It used to be you, me and Starrk."

"He went emo shit. You know it as much as I do. Just who did he think he was, dumping us like trash just because he didn't wanna play anymore? So our fucking tandem was over and done for—because he couldn't bring himself back on the field? He could've been the Panthers' fucking captain!"

"He had no choice but to quit."

"Fine, but what good is breaking up with us?! Do I look like I'm all about fucking football? Best friends, huh? Fuck that." I spat in restrained anger, my grip on the wheel tightening.

"His sister is ill; that you know as much as I do. His part-time job, which he needs more than anything now, doesn't allow spare time for things like football practice, hanging around with us, or reviewing classes. That's the reason why he's been so sleep-deprived and distant."

"So what's his game, huh? Thinking of himself as a bona fide lone wolf? As you ought to remember, I insisted he could take his own pace, miss practice and whatnot. Hell, he could even tell coach and Yadomaru to fuck off for all I cared. But he made it a point to show us he was so over me and you and that he wouldn't care two fucking straws if the name Nagano Panthers were dragged into the fucking ditch!"

Ulquiorra didn't answer, thus rendering our proximity almost disagreeable, and I was so bitter, what with all the reminiscences pressing against me. At length, I heard him say,

"That time at the cafeteria he invited me to his home, right? If I remember correctly, he invited you too but you pissed him off. It was his mother's birthday then. Moving on, do you remember what his room used to look like?"

"Fuck yeah. NFL and Jeff Wilkins's posters in every damn square inch of the wall." I replied gloomily, remembering those old days when we had goofed around the neighborhood, to afterward spend the rest of the afternoon at Starrk's place until my mom would arrive to pick me and Ulquiorra up.

"It still looks the same. Well, not really. I fancy there have been a few additions to the montage. David De Castro seems to have added to the list of footballers he admires… Grimmjow, this has to mean _something_."

"That fucker! De Castro entered NFL just _this _year!" I thundered. I found my foot slamming on the brakes. As it was, our heads jerked forward. Somehow, excitement was besetting me like fire because it was now clear that Starrk, should Ulquiorra's accounts be relied upon, was still harboring some attachment toward the sport he claimed to have fucking abandoned. Like some romantically wretched fool, he was hurting inside, dying to kick a fucking ball or to tackle someone, but was instead left with no choice but to attend to his domestic responsibilities and leave his one passion unattended. That or my imagination was shooting off the scales.

"Exactly."

"That motherfucker!"

"As captain of the Panthers, what are you going to do?"

I floored the gas pedal to get us moving once again. Smiling like a fool, eyes on the road, I couldn't suppress my excitement. More than anything, it appeared there existed not a word nor an event which could alter Starrk's eventual decision to rejoin the Panthers. He would come back, that much I was sure of.

"Regardless, he will return to where his kicking ass belongs in no time. I've been waiting for too long for that asshole."

"I always knew you were waiting. Too obvious."

With that remark, I resolved to talk to Starrk sometime in the next few days.

"So you're dating the bastard?"

"The answer remains the same: cut it out, Grimmjow."

"Mistrusting prick."

"Well, we did kiss, in his room. Looking back, I'm mighty glad you didn't accept his invitation."

I kinda expected that answer.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: Ditching the Whore

…

So here we were, Ulquiorra and I, on our way to Cupid Manga Store, where Starrk worked after school hours every Tuesday, Friday and Sunday in the evening. Ever since he had started standing behind the counter, the sale of the store's merchandise had been skyrocketing to exponential figures.

The store was bustling with customers. Alive with random chatters, the environment suited Starrk in a very ill manner. Really, just how was he surviving this? Despite that, he was putting on a friendly face, his disinterest never showing itself on the surface. We approached, whereby Starrk's face took on a peculiar light upon the sight of my companion. Suddenly I felt like a fucking intruder.

"This is a Shoujo manga store." Starrk stressed.

"Yep. We like girls." I answered, shooting a deliberate glance at the nearby girls' short skirts and gleaming legs. It was obvious they were there for a singular purpose: to flirt with the clerk. If they had known this bastard had been a bona fide football jock, they'd forget their names for minutes, rest assured.

"Feast on." was Starrk's response.

Ulquiorra walked over to a shelf to help himself with the week's releases. And then an average-looking chick drew near the counter and decided to flirt around,

"Your friends, Starrk-kun? You should ask them to drop by more frequently."

"Too bad he doesn't seem to like us pestering him during working hours." I beat Starrk into answering, to which he shot me a reproachful look. Ulquiorra, as he was sensitive rather than responsive, ignored everything. By now, the female patrons were attempting to engage us into some sort of flirtation, a game I was so good at playing.

"My god, you're the star of Nagano Panthers, the one they call Jaguar King!" One of the chicks squealed in recognition, her cheeks flushing with color.

"Ladies, this is a book store, technically. We ought not to make a racket." I proposed. All the same, they piled in in front of me, talking in rapid succession. Meanwhile, Starrk approached Ulquiorra, obviously taking the girls' diverted attention as his cue to steal a private word with his pseudo-boyfriend.

_Just fucking kiss already. _I almost blurted aloud.

We stayed until it was nearly time to close down. When all the customers had trotted off, I dumped Lisa's papers in front of Starrk to commence my guilt-tripping enterprise.

"What's this?"

"Read it." I prompted.

Not without reluctance, he skimmed the shit, and before long he was perusing it in serious absorption.

"It says here that Kyoushin Gakuen is statistically the strongest team in the entire tournament. How accurate is this? I mean, they can't still be the best now that Asuka Katakura has graduated, can they?" Starrk finally asked, incredulous.

"That shit is official document."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Pffft. As if you don't know."

"…"

"The match is almost here. I don't think there's a need to remind you of the premises in which our team is thrown. The last match was a near miss, all because our current kickers kick like a fucking joke."

"…" Still no answer. In his eyes was the same evasiveness which would ultimately culminate into irritation.

"If you've been watching, the Panthers kick like whores on stilettos, on a muddy field to top it off, seriously."

"…"

"One more thing," I rejoined, searched his face for some sign of agreement, and went on, "I heard Mikasa Tigers' Line is now the strongest in the league. Looks like it's an RIP on Omaeda and me. I'll ask Lisa to contact the funeral parlor soon."

"Ridiculous. I _know _for a fact you have ok Line dudes. Besides, we're not even sure if Mikasa shall turn out to be the champion of its region." Sounding somewhat dismissive, Starrk must have been so irritated with the exaggeration I was using to deliver my "facts". But maybe he was the one who needed to come clean; just how was he aware of the games' structure if he hadn't been subscribing to the tournament? At this point Ulquiorra started,

"Starrk, isn't it about time—"

"—let's not exaggerate here, guys—"

"—No one's exaggerating." Ulquiorra interrupted Starrk, his face not betraying the slightest of emotions. Of course this was one of those extremely rare times when something in the way he spoke would ring peculiar. Whatever it was, it prompted us to listen to him intently. By and by he resumed, "I somehow thought you were better than _this_."

Even though he seemed to care for Starrk more than he was brave enough to show, this was as far as his display of feelings could go. His face was blank, blank as a sheet, and I had to wonder if it should have any effect whatsoever on the stubborn bastard—or on anything. There was a long pause, and then finally, out of nowhere,

"Is my locker still available?" I heard Starrk ask, his eyes on mine.

"…" I could not answer because lately I had been using his empty locker for my own personal use—particularly for smelly socks and failed exam papers storage, as if I owned it.

"Is it, Master Guilt-tripper?"

"Let's just say it's been waiting for a certain prick to fill it up with smelly jerseys for, like, two fucking years now." I answered evasively, lest he figure what had become of his locker.

"I'll have my jersey washed before Tuesday, then."

I gaped at him, and so Ulquiorra looked up. Trying to contain myself with difficulty, since I was clearly starting to do _cartwheels _inside, I managed to ask,

"Are you fucking sure?"

"You two aren't gonna quit this guilt-tripping spree until I give in, right? Well, I can maybe call in sick sometime later for training."

"…" This time, I was the one who had to grope for words.

"And, Grimmy, tell me; are you still doping?" Starrk's inquiry just about jolted me completely awake.

"What kind of a question is that?"

"How about this: quit that shit and I might just make it in time for the next match." Starrk bargained. Right now it was impossible for me to assume I wasn't completely at his mercy, and so I complied, grinning widely,

"You've got yourself a fucking deal. Oh, and tell ya what, you son of a gun; I'll have you kick Kyoushin's ass fifty-five yards up their goal line, do you hear me? That's your fucking punishment for dickin' around for two years."

Really, I was so fucking happy I could kiss the bastard in the mouth, no shit. Apparently, the expletives I had uttered did nothing to affect Starrk's usual devil-may-care conduct. He answered just then,

"Aye, commander."

...

In the family hall where everyone was busy with his or her own gaming console,

"Can I borrow you for a while?" I asked stepbro.

"Like, now?"

"Yeah."

Ichigo shot his sister an apologetic look, and before long Karin was left to rely on the artificial intelligence to watch her character's back. In my room, it was Ichigo who spoke first.

"You look terrible."

"My team's playing Kyoushin Gakuen the day after tomorrow." I managed to spit out.

"So I've heard. Chad and Uryuu wouldn't shut up about it."

"The whole city thinks we're a joke beside the Twin Fuckers."

"The Twin _Dragons._ Chad wouldn't shut up about those two too. They're said to be the strongest in Kanto. They defeated my school last year in the quarterfinals, but was crushed in the Finals match by Genshijin Gakuen—when Madarame and MVP Katakura Asuka were deliberately smashed by a linebacker."

"Yeah, well, speaking of getting crushed, my team might just be next." I commented.

"You seem nervous. Wanna practice passes in the backyard?"

The offer didn't sound practical. Besides, I didn't need it. What I needed was peace.

"I'll skip."

"Black Ops?"

"Nah."

"Assassin's Creed?"

"Pass."

"Bed?" He finally offered, sounding thoroughly unsure of himself. At that, an insolent smile crept over my face. Then and there it was made clear I had to respond to this seduction, or else I was doomed to a nightlong anxiety. The next thing I knew was, I drew him to me, to kiss him at the side of his head.

"For this, you're getting a reward." I assured him.

"I wonder what that can be."

"Something hard, maybe."

If he had been equipped with a pair of ovaries I'd have gotten him pregnant dozens of times in the past week. Doubtless the idea of not having to resort to any form of contraceptives thrilled us both, but that was because we were stupid. While this immunity to consequences had no means of acquitting us of any guilt in any degree, we were young and careless most of all. This, of course, was a classic example of adolescent impunity. And yet, stupid didn't quite cover it; rather we were free of any guilt. Perhaps that in itself was dangerous. But neither of us cared one shit. As long as I could bed him anytime, for as long as I wanted, the world was mine for the taking.

After what must have been an hour, we were both ready to come down to dinner. Being able to fuck as frequently as we did was exactly the thing a devil like me needed. That was the line of thought my mind was presently tracing. And so now fully clothed and feeling less disgruntled by the impending ballgame, I followed Ichigo out my room, at the same time realizing I wasn't done messing around yet. I pulled him by the wrist.

"Jesus. We haven't gone two fucking steps from your door." He said, but the smile he was wearing ran counter against what he was saying. Sure enough, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and stood on tiptoe so that he could press his lips against my neck. All in all, we looked exactly like a couple of drunkards on our way out the pub, except that it also looked like we couldn't wait to go back to bed.

But a forestalled figure at the top of the stairwell brought us back to reality, and onto a clear realization of our grievous mistake; Karin was staring mutely at us, her lips parted slightly asunder. Ichigo's blood must have run cold, because he seemed to have lost the guts to budge another inch, if only to propose a different meaning behind our behavior. As for me, I found that the glare she was giving us had momentarily rendered me powerless. To top it off, I also could not pull away from her brother. And she, unable to articulate whatever it was that she was feeling, merely knitted her brows, pained perhaps. At length, she spoke,

"G—Grimmjow-san, some Shizuka called earlier. She asked me to tell you that you should check your cellphone's inbox."

The consistency of her manners, I was sure, was not commensurate with her current nerves. It was admirable that she managed to string her words correctly, even as tremors were most likely hammering at her throat. Nevertheless, she cast a last, disappointed look at his brother before disappearing downstairs.

"What now?" I asked. For some sick reason, Karin's discovery intensified my thrill rather than removed it. Obviously, it was unlikely for Ichigo to share the same sentiment.

Eyes fixed on the floor, he said,

"Grimmjow, I think we at least owe her an explanation."

"Fine."

"By the way, who's Shizuka?"

The sound of her name coming from Ichigo's mouth carried a certain gloom. It was only now that Karin's message started to make sense to me. As things were, I had to lie,

"Assistant team manager. Well, you might wanna go down before me. I'll just check my phone and see what the fucking assistant wants."

It didn't take long before Ichigo took my word for it and left me alone. But at once I was struck by what awaited me, because my phone's inbox was flashing this message:

_Meet me at Edomae Children's Park in 20mins. Urgent._

Urgent, for her, might have meant she was missing my cock so badly she couldn't stand it. To finally settle things with her, however, I had to face this shitty drama once and for all. And so I hurried out the house after dinner, in which Karin threw Ichigo and I suspicious glares all the long while. Well, fuck that.

…

I found her standing in the darkness, far away from the street lamp. Despite that, I discerned she looked awful and completely devoid of sleep, but it was her corporate attire that struck me as particularly out of place.

"What the hell do you want? Didn't I tell you I'd sooner fucking fail your subject than to pull some antics with you again?" I started.

With downcast eyes she was making every effort to appear fortified. And yet when she spoke all weariness inside her surfaced,

"Aren't you coming back to me? It's been so long and…"

"If it's sex you want, you can always dial XXX hotline. I'm sure the dicks they have there would have mine shrinking in comparison—"

"—You know what I want!" She burst forth heatedly, her ungainly manner nauseating.

"Apparently, I _don't_. Now, are we done here?"

"Grimmjow," She said, advancing in a cautious gait. I felt like flinching, but I gathered myself. At length she continued, "Is there someone else?"

To her credit, it wasn't a farfetched assumption if you considered my it's-fucking-over attitude, but the presence of a third person was hardly the reason why I was chucking this whore. The reason was plain and simple: I was done being used.

"None of your business."

"The least you can do is tell me!"

Her volume startled me. To further that, nothing in her tone suggested she was willing to be brushed aside. Fed up and irritated, I answered,

"Oh, you want it, then? Alright, here goes: I'm screwing someone else, someone younger and finer. Having said that, the fucking itself is more or less a hundred times more of a blast than anything you've offered me. Happy now?"

Because I was such a callous bastard, the agony that registered on her face amused me.

"Grimmjow, I loved you. I think I still do. We've been through so many trials. Just what did I do to deserve this?"

"You loved me? That's a surprise. I was sure you only had eyes for my cock."

She started to sob for real. Not a second sooner than she did this when I started to turn away, without one shred of fucking pity.

"L—let's start over again. I promise to be better." She pleaded shakily.

"There's nothing to start with. I was hot for you for a time—for a fucking time. Perhaps because you're older than me by a long shot. But that's that. If you want affection, go look for it somewhere else because it's the last thing you'll ever get from me. I'm a fucking heartless prick, and that doesn't require proofs."

"Are you in love right now—with the person you're sleeping with?" She asked all of a sudden despite my claim to heartlessness, her voice much straighter than how it had been minutes before.

With that disarming question my posture stiffened. Just then, my heart felt like jumping in and out my ribcage, and my mind was hoarding thoughts I had never entertained before now. If these sensations bore any sense of proportion to what I was truly hiding, it would seem only fair to admit my feelings, here and now, because even as I was a vindictive prick I had always made it a point to be honest as much as I could. My answer went like,

"Thanks for asking. Yeah, I maybe am suffering from that nasty thing you like to call love."

TBC

A/N: _So Bleach manga is in hiatus, just when I was expecting to see Grimmjow or some other character from the Espada arc in the next chapter. Man. I'm sad. _


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: **Ichigo's **POV for this chapter only

Chapter Thirteen: The Heartbreaker

…

Grimmjow Jaggerjack, my stepbrother, was a very talented athlete. On a personal level, I could say more. For one thing, he was extremely good-looking, and yet his was the sort of appeal which didn't attract people. Instead, the vicious expression he always wore tended to repel people. On the whole, his features were fearsome, and his conduct no less. But when he had first kissed me, in a surfeit of confusion and anger, I knew then he had still in him the very same innocence which could excuse delinquent teenagers for their bad propensities. That aspect of his was perhaps responsible for the attraction that drew me in.

Of all things, I was most likely falling headlong in love.

I was sleeping in his bed—again. Earlier, he had burst into my room with hardly any preamble, and demanded with a straight face, "Sex. Now. Upstairs." I was sure he must have been demented for sputtering those three short words aloud, completely within earshot of one door down the hall—Karin's room. But he later on insisted he needed it. His reason was, he was so nervous for the game tomorrow and so he required a potent distraction to dispel his nervousness. In bed, he wasn't exactly all about action and was sometimes sensible enough to do some serious talking. Several times he had told me to quit gallivanting with Ginjo Kugo. I explained to him that the athletes in my school were often in good terms with each other.

"Let me get this straight; you are _mine_. I'm pretty certain this fact meets no contest. If however Kugo, or anyone else for that matter, thinks it fit to circle around you like some kind of a rogue scavenger, I promise to personally dispatch him to the great hereafter."

But then our getting-to-know-each-other talk would often be interrupted every time either of us felt the slightest urge to keep the thrill going. Whenever silence threatened to stretch on longer than necessary, I would find his tongue forcing its way inside my mouth, as deep as it could go, otherwise he'd be spreading my legs as if asking for permission were all but necessary, as if he had more right to my body than me. Moments later, gasps and rapid breathing would fill his room, with the accompaniment of the creaking sound of his bed and the sound of flesh hitting flesh. My name or the term 'brother' coming out of his mouth and uttered in hoarse intonations were regularly the sole distinguishable words to be heard. 'Grimmjow', I would every so often moan, but the only good it ever did was to fire him up and make his movements more fervent—if you could call that good in the first place. Needless to even say, he wasn't gentle, nor was he overly violent, and yet it had to be admitted that he was a little domineering. Of late, however, the sex became more frequent and more intense. Morning after morning, a new set of dark red, circular marks could be discerned on the surface of my lower neck, just beneath the hem of my collars. Other times, bite marks would be there too, their shape looming so hard to mistake for something else other than the curvatures of his perfectly even teeth. The skin on my chest and on my thighs were even more on a sorry state. I rarely even undress in front of my teammates in the locker room anymore, for fear of exposing to them the nature of my activities nearly every night. Most of the time, sitting down in class for prolonged periods of time brought about pain. But none of it mattered; we were, after all, young and invincible.

It was always up to him to restrain me if ever I would decide to go back to my room after having a go with him. I had always made it a point to be careful, discreet, and to avoid drawing attention to what we were doing. Hence tucking myself in my own room to sleep, after sex, was one of the many ways to achieve that end. Our parents would kill us if they knew. But Grimmjow would so often pull me back as soon as I got one foot off his bed, his manner sometimes exercised with force, and before long I would be enclosed in his arms to be lulled finally into sleep. His warmth in this state right before total slumber, alongside the feel of his skin against mine, was maybe the closest to peace I had ever got.

Maybe, just maybe, I would follow this man everywhere.

…

Karin had been avoiding my eyes ever since she had caught me and Grimmjow in each other's arms. The sight, most likely, had not offered any outrageous implications, but it also was not something that could be so easily forgotten; I had been kissing his neck, for crying out loud. Whatever the case, my sister and I hadn't exchanged more than four words since.

In the meantime, I was off to watch my stepbrother's match. I had always preferred soccer over football but, this time, with Grimmjow on the field, American football seemed to me a whole new discovery. From where I sat, Nagano's Coach Muruguma could be heard,

"You lot are probably thinking eight points ain't that much, what with a lot of time still remaining. But this is Kyoushin we're talking about! Shuhei, how long do you plan on allowing those bastards to overtake you? Grimmjow, what do you have to say for yourself with all those lousy short passes? Are you really trying to make us advance?"

The Running Back and Grimmjow endured many harsh words that night, but out of all the Panthers, stepbro was the one who was constantly under tremendous pressure. Being captain and quarterback, his responsibilities were overwhelming. But keeping control in this occasion wasn't easy, because Kyoushin High School's Ayasegawa Yumichika and Madarame Ikkaku were monsters.

"I must say, Ayasegawa's raw skills exceed Hisagi's by a small margin." Kugo-sempai, who was sitting beside me, observed. Having only adequate knowledge of the sport, I merely nodded.

My soccer teammate Uryuu Ishida, who was sitting on my left and who had always loved watching sports which required immense thinking, replied, "True, but if you look closely, Ayasegawa-san looks like he's gonna collapse in no time. Coach Zaraki ought to bench him now."

Kugo-sempai scoffed before proceeding, "No can't do, Ishida-kun. He has to play on defense too because, in this entire tournament, he's the only one who can really stop Hisagi Shuhei."

"Looks like this game is a battle between the two aces. This all means this scheme is a time bomb. If only Kyoushin's current QB, Rikuu Togakushu, came near the talents of their former quarterback they wouldn't be in this dilemma." Chad concluded.

Kugo-sempai smiled widely, saying, "You know, no one really comes near the talents of Asuka Katakura. Sadly, he's now in college."

"Well, if this goes on, the tables will soon turn. That's because Nagano has Grimmjow-san besides Hisagi. From what I can remember, the Jaguar King is one of those dangerous quarterbacks who can run. He can go for touchdowns himself and use Hisagi as a decoy." Ishida commented.

"There's no table-turning going on in here. As I see it, there's not enough reason for the Panthers to lose this game. Also, if you ask me, Coach Zaraki ought to start prioritizing ways to subdue Grimmjow instead of focusing on Hisagi. Grimmjow's decisions and choices of plays have been slaughtering the Dragons for a whole quarter now." The three of us, mildly perplexed, stared at Kugo-sempai when he said this.

From what I could tell, my stepbrother was, in all manner of consideration, a superb athlete. On the field down below, tens of hardworking aspiring professionals formed the spectacle. All the same, out of all the players that impressed me, not the least was Grimmjow. Looming ten times more formidable with a helmet and all those protective gears, he appeared mystical, god-like even.

Sure enough, Grimmjow, on their bid to gain points in this particular possession, scored a touchdown by faking a short pass, tucking the ball in his armpit, and running the remaining yards by himself. Needless to say it was already too late for Ayasegawa or Madarame to catch up, everyone wasn't so sure as to what was happening until the whistle was blown. Appearing entirely conceited, he must have been smirking like a demon beneath the shadows of his headgear as he knelt on the ground beyond the goal line. The girls behind me were screaming, captivated by the dude down below.

And here I was, amazed by the man who was ever so prone to pronounce _my _name at the height of carnal pleasure. Every night.

"Although their Running Back has been basking under the spotlight all season long, Grimmjow Jaggerjack Azuma indisputably remains the chief engine of this team. Without him, his teammates would collapse under pressure and trials. To add on that, their coach isn't used to a second-rate dispatcher, and that's why the Panthers will never survive without him. While Hisagi maybe is the trump card, ace, and savior, Grimmjow remains the Panthers' strongest card. I can't wait to play against him." And so Kugo-sempai reflected.

"He's quite fast, isn't he? Not quite on Hisagi and Ayasegawa's level but pretty near." Uryuu asked no one in particular.

"Indeed. In the NFL, quarterbacks seldom run with the ball, but it doesn't mean it isn't necessary to also specialize in running. Take this play for instance."

My gaze shifted once again on the field, whereby Chad looked over my back to ask Ginjo Kugo a question I would be reluctant to ask on any given occasion,

"If you were to rate Grimmjow-san's abilities, captain, as a quarterback more than anything else, how would they fare?"

"Well, Sado-kun, since you leave me no choice but to measure him on my own terms, I'll have to humor you with due frankness…"

"Fire away."

"I think Grimmjow's talents are outstanding. I think, well…"

"Please go on, captain."

"According to the records, I surpass him in _every _statistical category. So I'll cut the story short by saying the Association must have either overestimated me or underestimated him."

"You're saying he's about as strong as you are?" Uryuu interjected, compelling me to rally my attention to whatever answer he might receive.

"Yes, that is my opinion."

The Panthers won by a hair's breadth. When it came down to it, the lack of a skilled quarterback was solely responsible for Kyoushin's loss. Nearing the end of the second half, Ayasegawa had been made to sit down due to fatigue, and, with that, the Dragons' fate had been sealed. The moment he had quit the field meant the end of touchdowns for his team. More than that, it equated to leaving linebackers Ylfordt and Shawlong free to mercilessly massacre the Dragons' offense.

…

I didn't bother waiting for Grimmjow to emerge from the stadium. My presence in front of his teammates and schoolmates, in their celebratory mood, most likely would look like an intrusion. Shukuro Tsukishima, Karakura Gakuen's Wide Receiver, joined the four of us on our way out. Tsukishima-sempai was, in all likelihood, the premier high school Receiver of Tohoku region, and he was called 'Werewolf' because despite his frail appearance he was a monster on the field. Even other Wide Receivers who came second in terms of skills could hardly hold a candle to him. He started, turning to Kugo-sempai,

"I didn't know the Panthers have a genius Kicker. Just who was that Number 11 dude?"

"Starrk is his name—played against him two years ago. Anyway, he's an all-around player, which means he absolutely is worth watching out for."

Tsukishima smirked at that, but when he spoke next I wished I'd never listened, for his words would drive a stake through me,

"I can't wait to play against these dudes. Aside from Hisagi, the Panthers' linebackers Ylfordt and Shawlong are the real deal, man. But, all in all, the Jaguar King sure ran the entire show. Perhaps that's the level of vigor one gets from _banging _a hot teacher."

My heart stopped beating for a moment, while my other companions looked away in obvious dismay.

"Excuse me?" I managed to spit out, arrested.

Tsukishima opened his mouth but Kugo-sempai, with evasiveness of behavior, as though anxious to keep something from me, pulled me by the elbow and started to walk faster ahead. Not long after this distracting display of conduct, he said to me,

"Ignore him. I'll drop you off as usual. See ya later, guys."

I pulled myself away, shifting my gaze from him to Tsukishima. With defiance, I demanded,

"What did you mean by that, Tsukishima-sempai?"

"Why, you're really an innocent one, Kurosaki-kun. No wonder Ginjo-chan only has eyes for you." He teased with a smile, which would have been tantalizing had it not been for the malice his mouth was implying.

"Shukuro, shut the hell up."

"Eh? Ginjo-chan, I'm not poking fun at your nemesis—"

"For the last time, quit talking garbage. I'd have thought you had enough sense to unsubscribe to this baloney—"

"—Sempai, I just asked you two a question." I heard myself intervene. It was the first time I spoke to my seniors with reproach, on equal grounds so to speak, and yet inside me everything was frenzied. Was Grimmjow involving himself with some sort of…?

"Well, Kurosaki-kun, allow me to tell you—" Tsukishima-sempai was interrupted by Uryuu,

"—Grimmjow-san is Ichigo's stepbrother, Tsukishima-san. He'd have preferred not to hear unpleasant and altogether ungrounded rumors about the Panthers' captain."

That invariably shut him up. Staring at me with a somewhat apologetic expression, doubtless he was rummaging his mind for words that might erase his earlier misdeed. To his credit, his regret and astonishment seemed sincere, but it hardly quelled my apprehension. All I knew was, I was about to discover something I terribly must not.

"I'll drive you home, Kurosaki-kun." Kugo-sempai placed a hand on my shoulder. He then turned to the others, "In the meantime, you two should better be in the team's headquarters by the time I get there. I reckon Hirako-sensei is waiting for us. Catch ya later, Ishida-kun."

Leaving them behind, he led me to an alley where his car was parked. I was very nervous and growing more so every moment. Surely, what had been implied earlier spelled real danger to me, to my feelings, unless by some assertion Grimmjow could be cleared of what I had been suspecting ever since Tsukishima had blurted that shit aloud.

"I want answers. Now." I said firmly, and it was apparent how unlikely it was for me to leave empty-handed. Indeed I didn't even wait for myself to be stowed on the passenger seat before I unleashed my annoyance. Although Kugo-sempai was apparently unwilling to face this specific question, there was no other way for him to pacify me but to answer. And so he did,

"A close friend of mine and of Shukuro's, who goes to Nagano Gakuen, has confided in us a rather sensitive story pertaining to your stepbrother. He claims to have more than once witnessed Grimmjow-san entering and leaving the apartment of their math professor. The professor, he says, is a beautiful _married _woman, and is infamous among the male students for engaging in dalliances with a number of them. Frankly, I don't really think a man of Grimmjow's athletic reputation would fraternize with rubbish, let alone do it indiscreetly. Besides, he's an adult, so it isn't anyone's business if he so chooses to engage in dalliances…"

I didn't bother hearing the rest of his long speech, nor would I have processed it had it been otherwise. Whatever else was streaming over my vision aided but little to my present gloom. Indeed, there was no registering how intense my distress was at the moment, and how clamorous the pain in my chest was becoming.

For the first time in what must have been my whole life, my heart felt like breaking.

TBC

A/N: _I'm sorry, but please forgive the nauseating angst in this. Thanks for reading and the wonderful reviews, guys; very much appreciated!_


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Back to **Grimmjow's **POV.

Chapter Fourteen: One Crack at a Time

…

The period after the match was a time for celebration, but coach wasn't the type to go easy on his lot.

"Just because you've managed to kill Kanto's strongest it doesn't mean you ought to go lax on the succeeding matches. Keep in mind that, in part, we owed this victory to their lack of a decent quarterback."

"Tell me about it, coach. That Togakushu is a complete idiot." Our Cornerback Tesla Lindocruz piped up. When Tesla had joined the team last year, he had been silent as a mute. And then he had started hanging around his cousin Jiruga, and right now he could as much avoid being cocky as he could survive without fucking oxygen.

At that, half the team sniggered.

Coach ignored them and went on, "Next in line is Mikasa. They're strong; make no mistake about that."

"Has Mikasa won the Regional Finals match, coach?" Hisagi asked.

"Would I yap about them if they hadn't? Use your brain, Hisagi."

"Oh, sorry."

"But Mikasa's quarterback is even _more _of an idiot. I wonder how many times Ylfordt-san will blitz that loser." This time Tesla sounded problematic, and thereupon the team howled like a bunch of hyenas. Right then, coach gave up his useless lecture. He said,

"Okay, bastards, you can all crash into the headquarters tonight until two in the morning. I know you animals are dying to party. No alcohol or _girls _allowed."

"Oh, Yadomaru-san is going home? Where is she, by the way?" Gio Vega, our rookie reserve quarterback, inquired, looking around like some lost imbecile. The kid was always trying to impress the manager, like a fool possessed by puppy-love.

"She will stay to make sure you don't blow up the place or something. Now, I will leave cash for whatever food you might wanna order."

The dugout boomed with triumphant bellows. Only Starrk and I appeared unwilling to plunge into some animalistic revelry so soon. In moments like this, a whole day must elapse first for victory to settle in its final place. But I was detracted from further musing when Lisa entered the dugout and motioned at me,

"You have visitors outside. You might wanna take someone with you." Without elaborating, she turned to the rest of the team to start nagging and to allude to the consequences should our rowdy members go out of control. As for me, I was in no mood to discuss shit with people, but this mood of mine was of no use for the time being. Thus I flicked my head at Starrk, all the while wondering who in hell would have the audacity to require my audience in this so unholy an hour.

Outside, Madarame was waiting, Ayasegawa idling behind him. Both looked as though someone had splashed ice-cold water across their faces. Kyoushin's captain spoke first,

"First and foremost, I, on behalf of coach Zaraki, wish to offer you congratulations for advancing to the quarterfinals. See, it ain't my thing to interfere with the victors' merry-making, even more so because you're responsible for our elimination, but it looks like we won't be seeing one another for quite a time ahead. It's this." Madarame produced a square envelope which waxed too familiar. As a matter of fact, I had long ago lost count of the number of times Lisa had handed one like this to me.

"Game footages of Mikasa Tigers, I presume." I commented.

"They've recently gotten hold of a certain rookie—"

"—Toshiro Hitsugaya." Came my reply.

It was Ayasegawa who spoke, "Hitsugaya-kun's _not _the problem. If anything, he's merely a nuisance; some stumbling block at most."

To whom was he referring to? I was sure the runt was the main threat of the team, provided quarterback Kira Izuru remained a pansy… gradually, the image of an unnamed player rose before me like a specter.

"Bull. You rascals are helping us out because? I'd be very interested to hear what you have to say for yourselves." I said with exertion.

"As your fellow Kanto contenders, we owe you this much. Personally, I wouldn't wish what happened to me and Katakura-sempai last year to get repeated, not even on the athletes who caused us this elimination. Watch the footage; there's no way you'll miss _the dude_. That's all we came here for. Good night." Madarame finally announced.

"We can't thank you enough." Starrk muttered.

Nodding like a solemn priest, Madarame took to his heels, while on the other hand Ayasegawa nimbly skipped away as though there no longer was any reason for him to be dejected. When they had gone, I turned to Starrk,

"Don't sweat it. This fucking 'Baby Genius' will soon learn it ain't time for him to be weaned away from his momma's titties. As for the mystery dude, we'll have to let coach decide whether or not there's a need to wet our pants."

"Aye, boss."

…

I got home one hour past midnight. On account of that, I had to steal silently inside the damned house. Ichigo might have gone to bed already, and yet I was half hoping the case was otherwise. My hopes then went up upon the sight of light escaping from the gap between the door and the floor of his bedroom. I knocked, to which silence received me. At that, I pried the door open to find his nose buried in a fucking book.

"I knocked twice, ya know."

"So I heard."

His manner struck me as insolent, and of course I found this hard to ignore.

"You watched me rip dragon asses so why so fucking smug?"

Annoyance registered on his face, whereas the very same sentiment was beginning to beset me. My opportunity to ask was terminated right away when he blurted,

"It must have been swell fucking your math teacher."

First, I opened and closed my mouth like a drunken man. But hardly had the accusation made its full descent on my wits than it began to fucking repeat itself in my head, over and over. At the back of my mind, a number of unanswered questions were crowding in. More than anything, guilt was casting a shadow over my head.

"Where the fuck did you pick that garbage up?"

"Oh, I think we're mistaking what matters from what doesn't. So let's hear what you have to say for yourself."

This was exactly the last thing I wanted to happen. On top of everything, I had already been absolved of this fucking scandal. After all, I had chucked the whore like some used doll. With that in mind, I deduced this could be sorted out by way of a decent explanation.

"It was swell for a fucking time. I assure you I've ended my shenanigans with her for good."

"It's true then."

"It _was_." I stressed.

He heaved a sigh, pulled himself from his bed, and drew himself to his full stature. My nerves, charged with anxiety or some other jangling feeling, began to cower. Perhaps it had to do with the bitter glare he was giving me, otherwise with the partial guilt which hadn't left me.

"I can take your word for it. But we're _over_, I guess."

I blanked out entirely. Frankly, I couldn't name three things in my life worse than this. Upon recovering, I started,

"Now you listen here—"

"—No. You listen—"

"—So what what do you call those nights? Fucking mistakes?—"

"Grimmjow, this has been wrong from top to bottom, right from the beginning. I surmise this discovery is just some fucking wake-up call for us both. I mean, this _can't _go on; you and I."

He might as well have fucking stabbed me in the stomach, the fucking bastard. Was I being dumped? Me? Of all fucking jocks? Why, this was a first for me, and perhaps the last. Whatever the fucking case, I couldn't, wouldn't, accept it. And so my frustration went on to make me see red, whereby I began to clasp my hair and to wipe imaginary dirt on my mouth. In short, I was beginning to get mad.

"Are you dumping me, prat?"

"Looks like it. You're my brother, for crying out loud."

His answer, and that alone, I suspected, made me recede to my former violent self. Without preliminaries, I stormed in on him and pinned him on the bed. A gasp issued from his mouth but that was hardly a reason to postpone my assault. My mind was reeling and was being invaded by hideous imaginations. I wanted to strip him naked. I wanted to get myself inside him, to do him while he was dry, to make him scream my name over and over, and to have him begging for more. The desire grew and grew, by the fucking minute, until it was very near to overtaking me. Indeed, rape was just around the corner.

But maybe I couldn't pull something like that.

No, I wouldn't bear to have him experience what I had experienced from my fucking teacher. It occurred to me that I had long before now started caring deeply. About him. Accordingly the imagined atrocities ceased right here. I asked,

"Tell me. Would you have thrown me—us—away if you hadn't learned of my past with that whore?"

"Yes. Sooner or later either of us would come to this realization. It just so happened that it turns out to be me."

"Fuck you."

Compelled by some bitterness I could not fully understand, I pressed him harder down his bed, my palms threatening to dislocate his shoulders. He seemed well on his way to groaning in pain, and was looking like it too. But then the door flew open, and Karin was standing there in horror. Why was she here? Perhaps she had started to observe my and Ichigo's activities long before now, right from the moment she had discovered we had most likely been screwing every night.

"G—get off him please, Grimmjow-san."

At first I was tempted to obey, perhaps due to the sternness of the expression on her face, and in fear of attracting the attention of the other inhabitants of this accursed house. In the next second, however, I realized no person, much less a girl, would stop me from doing what I thought I was entitled to do.

"Go away, brat."

Not realizing the full weight of my dismissal, I felt my right arm fly away from Ichigo. He fucking slapped it away! I had forgotten how strong he was too. He was an athlete, for crying out loud. Before long a threat reached my ears.

"You'll not speak to my sister that way." Through gritted teeth and with a voice that was hardly his, he warned, protective.

He pushed me aside, with force. Having been caught off-guard I stumbled down the fucking carpet. And then, like some idiot who had come to the wrong neighborhood, I tried to pull myself erect after a humiliation. My lethal gaze shifted from him to his sister for many times and yet, still, their sorry eyes were more vindictive than mine. I felt like a fucking criminal. I went on feeling that way until I decided it was about time for this to end. As though reading a message I could not have read previously, I gave in, in the heat of my anger and amid the various oppressing sensations settling at the pit of my stomach. In the end, I wasn't one to beg for affection. Really, fuck that.

"You're right. We're over, fucking brother."

I stormed out, feeling like an older man. More than anything, what I needed was something on which to vent my feelings. Nevertheless, I dredged on, pulling on some grand show of emotional stability just when it was almost impossible to do so.

For the first time in what must have been my whole life, my heart felt like breaking.

TBC

A/N: I hate, hate, this chapter. Sorry for this! Oh, this is gonna get draggy; to my estimation, I still have six chapters left.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N**: Hi there! Just wanna warn you that this chapter sucks and is angstsy as sh*t. Man, sorry for that XD

Chapter Fifteen: Burning Bridges

…

Personally, I couldn't tell as to what extent my affections and self-preservation had been fruitfully invested, but I could tell I had wasted both for nothing. Ichigo would speak to me no more, except during instances when words between us fell short of avoidable; like when he'd volunteer to pick up Szayel from the brat's play-dates, or when we'd pass each other by on the narrow staircase. 'Excuse me' was the usual phrase he'd utter to me. As for me, I couldn't stand it anymore. The only outlet I had left were my afternoon training sessions and video games. Sure enough, it was easy to endure most of the hours I spent at school but, when night came, something very akin to loneliness would assail me—not to mention my body's almost constant craving for sex. Really, I could kill for it.

As of the moment, I found my feet carrying me to the team's headquarters, but not without due tension. Inside, Lisa was studying the playbook. But it wasn't her keen absorption for the material that struck me as peculiar; it was the bouquet of flowers on the table. I hadn't known she was the type who could attract admirers, as she was about as dazzling as Lucifer himself.

"Convenient. I was about to call for you." She started.

"That's sweet. But word's been going around town and I'm not liking it one bit. They say the Panthers are gonna be butchered by mere Tigers. Explain."

"Sit down, captain. Oh, before we start, this is for _you_." She prodded the flowers toward me with total disregard as to what this feminine token might have meant.

"From you?"

"From Mikasa's quarterback, Kira Izuru."

Well, it was the curse of those in possession of serious physical beauty that we were prone to receive surprises, sick and sweet. In this case, it was bizarre and nothing else. Nonetheless, I stared at the flowers, long enough to gauge what insult it tendered. It was a bunch of lousy white orchids, particularly the ones you'd see on funerals and deathbeds. Accordingly, I had to scowl, my head reeling with images of Kira Izuru getting throttled by my bare hands.

"That bastard is 100% sure I'm dead because what?" I inquired angrily.

"Looks like you're not so daft after all, Grimmjow. In any case, the reason for your impending funeral is Edrad Liones, a rookie. Six feet and seven inches in height, two hundred and sixty-five pounds of pure muscle; why, you can run away while you still can." She spoke not like a concerned party but like a mocking villain.

"Who the fuck is that?"

"Mikasa's Center. They allegedly acquired him before the season commenced but he's only started playing three games ago. Right from the start, he has posed a major threat but coach insisted it wouldn't be wise to impose unnecessary mental pressure on the team—on you, in particular. That's why coach and I have been keeping his existence from you until now."

"How splendid. So what makes you and everyone think a goddamned rookie is gonna crush me like a soda can? And why me, of all assholes?" I spat, despite knowing where this exchange was leading to. Suddenly, the words Ikkaku Madarame had spoken to me came ringing back to my ears.

_Personally, I wouldn't wish what happened to me and Katakura-sempai last year to get repeated._

Over the years, I had seen hundreds of attempts to subdue players, particularly the quarterback, and in cases where the players were extremely talented, and therefore unstoppable, the so-called attempts would involve aggression which fell nothing short of an assassination. That was what had happened to Asuka Katakura and Madarame Ikkaku one year ago.

"What, you ask? Grimmjow, this kid can really be the reason for your impending hospitalization. Here's the video Madarame handed to you." Looking thoroughly uneasy now, she went on to fetch a laptop somewhere to show me something.

On the screen, a game between Mikasa and some other contender rolled on. It was not halfway through the match when this Liones dude managed to decimate the opposing team's lineup to half its number.

"This bastard has all the grace of a ramming bull! Is he even allowed to do that? Look at this son of a bitch smashing skulls one after another!" I gasped. Watching closely, I came to figure out that this dude, Edrad Liones, was ramming one lineman after another _in order to get to the quarterback._

"You know more than I that specifically targeting a quarterback is a perfectly _legitimate _strategy. For your information, it will take two whole months for quarterback Findorr Calius to fully recover."

"That's maybe because Findorr is a freaking faggot. Hell, even _you _can maul that bitch to death." I intercepted just so to conceal the tension.

Lisa ignored me, continuing, "This scene was reiterated two more times, and in all cases the opposing teams were forced to forfeit _before _the second half commenced. The only quarterback that was spared the stretcher was Ginja Gakuen Eagles' Abirama Redder."

"The Eagles managed to _protect _that imbecile after all?" I asked, amused.

"Not really. Redder called it a day and forfeited bitterly before he could be harmed."

_Is this what one may refer to as a Quarterback Killer? _

I stared at the monitor, not really watching but only seeing blanks. My awareness of Edrad Liones's existence delivered a lurid sense of fear, the type which I could not dispel. Was my high school football life going to _end_ because of this beast?

"You better start prescribing Gio Vega some performance enhancing drugs. If I get killed before the game ends, he's gonna be our only hope." I said, somewhat hoping our reserve quarterback would be adequate substitute for me if ever I got killed.

I winked at her and stood up to leave, whereby she pushed the stupid bouquet of flowers at me, in an obvious desire to blot it out of her sight. But she made a parting remark,

"Grimmjow, I'm sure you understand that without you… well, I believe there's no need to elaborate."

…

As of the moment, I had to endure unsolicited pieces of advice from Starrk, who proceeded,

"How about you get a really hot girl; you know, try to make him jealous, like _insanely _jealous. If that doesn't ensure him crawling back to you I don't know what will, man."

Because that suggestion, or what amounted to a suggestion, was as useless as a spent tampon, I didn't go about sparing him my irritation,

"Would you do that to Ulquiorra if _you _were in my situation?"

Starrk blushed and started to busy himself with the manga he was holding. Instantly, it became apparent that his answer for that was a flat '_No, I wouldn't do that to my fucking boyfriend because I love him to death_'. From across Starrk, Ulquiorra was folding the newspaper he had been reading, looking neither embarrassed nor affected. I began to envy these two. There was no determining whether or not they had ever slept together, and yet it would've only taken a second of observation to deduce these two were happy. In love. This envy lay about unread, until Ulquiorra decided it was about time for one of us to start talking sensibly. He said,

"Talk to your brother and straighten this thing up. You can't screw up in the quarterfinals just because you're feeling emotionally unstable. If you were a reserve it wouldn't matter all that much. But you are quarterback and captain. This is your and Starrk's last shot at a championship ring."

And that was it.

Presently, I was taking a train to the next town, where Karakura Gakuen was situated. The trip took longer than expected, and by the time I had alighted from the terminal, second thoughts were already filling in my head. After what must have been twenty turns on the wrong roads and alleys, the fucking school came into view. It was a decent campus but it wasn't much compared to the one I went to. To move on, I hung around the vicinity of the gate, trying with effort not to attract attention on my part. While at it, I would stare at the fucking ground, with my teal hair covered by a beanie and my eyes behind bogus reading glasses, in fear of recognition. I was looking like a damned hipster. My reputation, after all, extended up to here.

I soon made my way to the goddamned field, where I found the soccer dudes wrapping up their training session. Ichigo was looking swell in his jerseys and knee-length socks, and his physique was made more slender, and therefore attractive, by the mere fact that he was on a field. However, upon the sight of his teammates my determination started to wither, and even more so at Ginjo Kugo's entrance. What the fuck was he doing here anyway? But my question was answered right away when he approached my brother. Suddenly some compulsion was swaying me. The longer they chatted there, oblivious to my presence, the nearer I got to psychosis. I was all set up to rant audibly, but then I had enough sanity to tuck myself behind the bleachers and to idle around, unnoticed by the other students.

My silent wait seemed to stretch to fucking infinity. It looked like they had no plans to abandon the fucking field and that all they wanted was to stay like that for, like, fucking forever. In time, though, Ichigo swung his duffel bag over his shoulder. As opposed to his teammates who were proceeding to the dugout to shower, he advanced toward the other exit gate, replete with his sweaty training attire, whereby Kugo followed suit. And there ensued one of the stupidest stupidities I had ever pulled in my goddamned life; I followed suit. Spying on them like an inexperienced Peeping Tom, I went about ducking here and there, like a complete moron, until they reached Kugo's ride. Something was telling me I had now more reason than ever to stay hidden. Well, moving on, I was tucked behind a utility room, getting bored out of my mind, and one wrong move, one isolated sound, would give away my presence. I strained my ears—only to later on wish I hadn't.

"Sempai, catch ya later." I heard Ichigo tell Ginjo Kugo.

"Are you sure you don't want a lift?"

"I wish to take the subway—be alone."

I could hear them pretty well from where I was. There wasn't another student in sight on the parking lot, by the way, nor was there any other source of noise save them both. For them to part ways right at this moment would bring satisfaction to me, at least. But it seemed fate had no plans for that or for some other aspiration I might have been unwittingly fostering. Because…

Well, as abrupt as a fucking explosion, Kugo reached out for my stepbro's head, just in time when I decided to fucking take a careful peek at them. Because he excelled at being an asshole, he drew his face closer to Ichigo. Now, I had heard of people who were prone to committing shamelessness every so often, but this was just off the fucking scale. He kissed Ichigo. It lasted for a few seconds and, until the very end, I felt very much at risk of losing my damned sanity. Just what the hell was going on in Kugo's mind, pray tell? I bet it went like, _I'm so fucking awesome I want to bed my awesome self. But because I can't fucking figure out how to do that, I will just fucking kiss whoever wherever I want to. _

As for Ichigo, he could keep in mind he had just about signed Ginjo Kugo's death warrant.

What bewildered me most was the lack of resistance on my fucking stepbro's part. Yeah, maybe he simply could not have resisted, but why allow it in the first place?! There were so many people in the world to grant access to his fucking mouth and he chose this fucking fucker?! So while I was all too convinced I was justified to beat either of the two to a bloody pulp, I realized I could not act upon sentiment alone. There had to be some provocation, something more legit, something that would justify my actions if ever I succeeded in separating Kugo's head from his fucking neck…

This fucking _hurt_ like hell. The feeling intensified even as Ichigo had finally taken his leave, his eyes avoidant and somewhat listless. Before long he was gone. Now with the obstruction gone, there appeared to be nothing in sight to stop me from knocking the living daylights out of Japan's best quarterback. And yet I held my temper in check. As if that wasn't difficult enough on its own, I had to try to at least stay put, wait in my stupid hiding place and for this fucking bastard to disappear. When he had gone, the world appeared to me a much bleaker place. No shit. Every thought, acceptable or otherwise, was simply way beyond my tolerance. I couldn't think straight. There was every reason to forget about stepbro now, to consign everything in the past; I did remember having said, "_We're fucking over, brother_"…

I reached out for my mobile phone. Since nothing in what had just happened had gone anywhere near my desired outcome, I might as well dial Sousuke's number, right smack in the middle of this shitty failure of an evening. The other line rang for a number of times before it got picked up. Hardly had a word of greeting reached my ear when I heard myself say,

"I've made up my mind. I wanna go to America… Dad."

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen: Quarterback Killer

…

My emotional state was a predicament that must be overcome, lest my whole life be dismantled. Upon telling my only two friends in the whole wide world what had happened and what I intended to pull, I fancied Starrk was literally on the brink of wringing my neck.

"Grimmy, you fucking dragged me back into the team and this is how you repay me? By flying to America? The strength of my kick hasn't diminished all that much, you know. If you don't calm the hell down your nutsack will suffer for it, I swear." He sounded serious.

"Cut it, Starrk." Ulquiorra came to my rescue. He turned to me, "Grimmjow, I hope you understand that there's nothing more important than the next match. So can we all agree to stop moping like a retard?"

In the end I decided, with much counsel from them, to at least graduate from high school here. The terms 'championship' and 'MVP candidate' had to be uttered twice before I placated. Meanwhile, Sousuke, for reasons best known perhaps to himself, did not even consider hiding his satisfaction. If it had been a habit of mine to exaggerate I'd have said he was over the fucking moon with joy. All this was happening while Ichigo went on to be a reminder of some emotional void I so craved to fill. But now there was no getting things back on their right track, just because I had been neurotic enough to voluntarily dial Sousuke's number.

At home, there had been plenty of times for me to ponder how best to reorder my life. But because I was such a desperate dumbass, more than once I had tried to engage Ichigo into some kind of a staring match as a form of a plea, perhaps, but none of this had so far worked nor had any of it been understood. As my frustrations needed venting, I found myself standing right outside his room in the middle of the night. To signify my presence, I pressed my forehead against his door without knowing what should follow. Before my commonsense got a hold of me, the click of his doorknob was heard. And, of course, the look on his face wasn't doing me any great service.

"Grimmjow."

Frankly, I didn't know what had gotten over me. Maybe because I was thinking I would be killed tomorrow in the match, and in so being in that state of mind there seemed to be a need to distribute sentimental farewells here and there. Without anything conclusive forming in my head, I lunged at him, pressing us both inside his room. Closing the door behind me, I moved closer to him. He backed away. My voice came,

"The Panthers will slaughter at least eleven Tigers tomorrow."

"I hope so too."

"That's not what I mean. I will kill them in order to murder _your _fucking Ginjo Kugo in the finals."

I had originally meant to stay for only a little while, but with him standing there, defenseless and reading between the lines, something terrific seemed to be waiting to happen. Sure enough, I was beginning to understand I had but one action at my disposal, and that was to kiss him because I had been dying for it for maybe days now. Perhaps I believed stealing a kiss from Ichigo would take me on even grounds with Ginjo Kugo. And so I did, leaving him aghast and god knew what else. Hell, I didn't care. The kiss must've lasted for a minute but the lack of cooperation on his part did nothing to diminish the force I was applying. Once I had had my fill, I pulled away. He looked perturbed, and on the whole confused, as if he knew not how to react. However, I could see he was still under the impression that I was on the brink of explaining. But I had no plans of that sort, hence I turned to my heels to finally march away from him, feeling somewhat satisfied with a pathetic stolen kiss.

"G—grimmjow, do your best and be careful tomorrow." I heard him stammer behind me.

With those words I was reminded of those nights we'd spent together beneath the sheets. During those times there had appeared to be nothing in the past, nor in the future; there had only been the present. If someone had told me we had been on our way to this happier stage of what probably was love, I would've believed it without ever contesting. Accordingly, it was maybe true I had been in love, and still was. And now those nights were irrevocably gone, while something in me continued to scream his name.

I darted upstairs without a last look at him, the walls of what probably was my heart caving in.

…

I stood on the field, and there towered ahead of me a fucking sentinel. It took two plays for everyone to realize that this beast's sole purpose was to immobilize me. I could hear my teammates before me, murmuring grave things which were taking more definite shapes each time Edrad Liones got nearer and nearer to crushing me.

"We will push through by rushing." After all the hard thinking, this was all I managed to say, shallow and predictable. It was only at the end of the huddle when I drew myself up to Omaeda, to tell him, "Can you hold Liones off?"

"Whaddaya take me for, Grimmjow, some beauty queen on this battlefield?"

"Stop acting like one, then."

"I'll protect you. Promise."

"Protect captain at all cost!" Hisagi Shuhei boomed as we scattered.

We dispersed to a rather generic formation. When the snap was carried out, I ended up surveying the reflex of the opponents. But being entirely sure of the situation required battling through a blitzkrieg of second thoughts. Fact was, I could run myself or allow Hisagi to do it. In my hesitation, I failed to notice that someone had rammed Omaeda from the side, _leaving Liones free_. In less than the blink of an eye, Edrad Liones was _upon me_. I had enough presence of mind to procure a step backward. I was thinking, I only had to get the ball outta my hands for this oversized bull to leave me alone.

I thought I was quick enough.

This time, I wasn't. I was smashed. Never mind that the possession was transferred to the other team without us gaining a fucking yard. He knocked me down, using his left shoulder to smash my right side with a force that was enough to blot out an existence. Falling down on my back, my helmet flying to lord-knew-where, I went on to see stars circling above me. _Omaeda promised to protect me, huh? Out of all the promises he could fucking break... _'_A Quarterback's life rests on his throwing arm_'. Did that mean my life was over? Because, sure as hell, my humerus had just shattered to pieces!

"CAPTAIN!" It might have been Hisagi or Vega, but I didn't know either of their voices could go that girlish.

"And so the Jaguar King has fallen." Kira Izuru's voice could be discerned even though he was sitting down on their bench. With the genuine but nevertheless bogus commiserating look he was wearing, it was easy to tell Liones had smashed me under his orders. No sooner after this audacity was uttered did Hisagi charge at him, spitting his words,

"Is this your idea of fair play, frickin' faggot?!"

Hitsugaya stepped between them, whereas Hisagi was pressed back by our freshmen teammates onto the side bench, his middle finger flashing at Hitsugaya and Izuru.

"Relax, dude. I've only been sitting here this whole time." Kira Izuru clarified.

Well, my upper arm might have shattered, but at the same time it also translated to another kind of sound: the sound of my entire future breaking into smithereens!

"To the infirmary, quick!" Coach barked at the medics who were carting a stretcher over where I was.

I couldn't get any sensation from my arm, but I could tell the rest of me was okay, which went to say, screw the stretcher. To be sure, it was the shock that was freezing me entirely. With that in mind, I made a motion to sit up, whereby my teammates closed in on me. Soon, Ylfordt wrapped an arm around my waist, slumped my uninjured arm around his shoulders and supported me on my feet.

"I'll assist him myself." He dismissed the medics.

Because my emotional state could not spare me a chance to protest, Ylfordt herded me away without further difficulties. A last look at my teammates showed they were feeling worse than if Christmas had been canceled. While that was happening, I realized coach had opted not to force me onto a stretcher so as not to injure my pride.

But my pride had already been slaughtered anyway some four minutes ago, along with my spirit.

…

In the stadium's infirmary, after what seemed like an eternity of quarreling with the medics who insisted I ought to be stuffed in a fucking ambulance, I was finally allowed to stay until further instructions from some authority. With more or less one million death threats flowing outta my mouth, it was clear I was too decided for any contradiction, but one of the nurses said she was going to report my persistence to the league's Head Commissioner. Anyway, I was now being looked after by Lisa alone, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else than here.

"Tighten my bandages." I said.

"No use."

"Fuck that! If Vega gets killed next, there'll be no one left to fill my slot!"

She burst into tears. This wasn't the first and certainly wouldn't be the last time I made a girl cry. In this occasion, however, I had made a girl cry for a wholly different reason, and that became apparent when she struggled to word things between sobs,

"We're doomed…"

Was she losing hope? The nerve of this chick! I never, not for one damn accidental second, would've believed it was possible for us to lose. And yet here she was, our very manager who was supposed to encourage us at all cost, expressing her fears like any average girl in absolute despair.

"Why the hell are you crying? We haven't fucking lost yet! Here, bind another layer of this around my fucking arm and make it quick." I gestured at the nearby roll of heavy-duty bandage on the bedside table.

She subdued. There probably was something in me which was prompting me to appear assuring, apart from fierce, and maybe that was why she grabbed the roll and started to undo it with dexterity. Before long we were silent.

But the silence ended as soon as it had entered, for here was someone, stepping into the threshold.

Ichigo.

Lisa shifted uncomfortably at my side.

"Captain can't receive visitors—"

"—Let him in." I interrupted, surprising even myself. Jesus. Was I craving his nearness so much that I had to act like a buffoon in front of him and the manager? Or maybe the painkiller given to me earlier was doing its job to demolish my wits temporarily.

"I've phoned your mom. She and dad are on their way." Ichigo explained, looking grave.

"Really? Have you been watching?"

"Of course."

"With that fucking so-called 'Alpha Wolf', I presume." I said with a virulent smirk, to which Lisa tightened the cloth on purpose, so hard I had to squint. I'd have passed out if it hadn't been for the painkillers.

"Right. So long, bro." He turned to leave.

But, not realizing what emotional gamble I was making, I called out,

"Wait." That froze his departure like a pause button. Snatching my chance, I turned to Lisa, "Can you head up for a second? Come back here to report in three minutes."

She nodded, unquestioning. When she had gone, Ichigo approached my bed with caution, as if entering a lion's den.

"Need anything?"

"Well, I don't know, really. I haven't been thinking about you, at least from the moment I entered this stadium, and that gave me enough mental stability to play like a legend. But then you arrived, stealing all my presence of mind."

I had no right to sound arrogant, especially when I had been sentimentally confused enough last night to steal a kiss from him. But, until you faced the same pressure I was facing at the moment—as the principal engine of the team now rendered obsolete—, you couldn't imagine how necessary it was for me to avail whatever shit on which to vent my frustration.

"Forgive me then. For the meantime, I can only hope you forget about my existence and for you to get well." was his answer. Not taken aback or anything, he made a motion to leave.

"Forget? It's that easy, isn't it, you _grand _prick?"

"I wouldn't know. Perhaps you would, because it's that easy to _leave._"

"Who the fuck said anything about leaving?"

"Aren't you flying away with your dad by the end of the school year, Grimmjow?"

That shut me up. He must've acquired the news from my mother. Regardless, it seemed the nearer my departure got the harder it was for me to feel good about it. In fact, I might have been dreading it all along. Just what had I got myself into, anyway? Somehow, I started to wish I were only half as psychotic as I really was so I wouldn't have to change my mind time again like some pregnant woman.

"As a matter of fact, I am. Well, you're right anyhow; I should try erasing from my mind the fact that you exist." And because I was rest-assured severely psychotic, this was what I said.

He looked disgusted, while it was next to impossible for me to gain satisfaction from this. Surprisingly, though, a hurt expression was all that could be derived from his face, and immediately I felt like taking back what I had just said.

"Then disappear for all I fucking care." He retorted, though not without grudge. This served as a prelude for his bitter departure which he conducted with heavy treads. Due to my splendid manners, of course, I was left alone again, now more baffled than ever.

What this encounter meant I couldn't tell. And yet, he had sounded like he was hating me for going away indefinitely. _For leaving him_. Never minding the fact that he was the one who had started this fucking rift, he was mad at me, angry for the desertion I was going to pull. Apparently, it didn't quite occur to him that, aside from falsely accusing me of bedding a teacher on my own will, he had broken up with me, had mangled my fucking heart in all probability, and on top of everything had kissed Ginjo Kugo, of all fucking assholes. And now he was most likely back on the stands, sitting beside that jackass.

So Ichigo Kurosaki had the right to despise me, while I lay with a dying arm, because what?!

TBC

Disclaimer: This chap is based on one of Eyeshield 21's chaps, where Hiruma got smashed.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen: One Last Win

**A/N:** This chapter sucks! I'm uploading it with chapter 18 because I've been pretty busy lately and because, I repeat, this chapter is one great bore. To top it off, this is unedited so I'm sorry for the mistakes. On the bright side, Bleach manga has updated. Yay!

…

I was all set up to chase after Ichigo to give him a taste of his own crap when Lisa hurried back in, panting. As soon as she made it to the doorway, a couple of stretchers were being laid down on the beds next to mine. I stared at them, wide-eyed in disbelief. They were two of our first-string Linemen, in fact the reliable ones; Nakeem and Di Roy.

"What in bloody hell is this?!" I screeched, looking wildly around. For one blinking moment, my vision was blacking out for a whole new reason; murderous intent. I could completely understand why I, the fucking quarterback, had to be exterminated but what I refused to grasp, despite my sophisticated knowledge of Izuru's dirty game, was the extent of that fucking bastard's unsparing cruelty.

"Liones." Lisa answered.

"I will fucking decapitate that sonuvabitch! I fucking swear! I will personally fuck Izuru!"

Without realizing it, I had pulled myself up, abandoning myself to a flash of lust for vengeance. Still, there was no ignoring the crippling pain in my arm. Was the painkiller starting to wear off? But before my anger reached the point where Lisa had to drag me back to the bed, the mangled Di Roy spoke feebly,

"Captain, sorry."

I spun around, still consumed with rage, to find weary eyes staring back at me. I asked, "For what?"

"Our job was to protect you."

That suspended my fury. That one time when I was so sure of myself and the legitimacy of my anger, I was shot down by a few humble words. By and by I subdued, and that seemed to be enough to reassure my two infirmed teammates. Still, nothing now stood in my way toward revenge. In my mind, I would massacre Izuru and Liones either by winning or…by winning by a fucking landslide. And then Lisa reported,

"Hisagi and Shawlong have both been given warnings by the referees for threatening Izuru."

"Tell those two jerks to keep their fucking tempers in check, dammit."

"You're one to talk, captain. Moving on, Mikasa has just scored a touchdown. In our next possession, Hisagi will be quarterback and Vega the Running Back. Grimmjow, I hate to say this but you're right. Let me tighten your bandages so we can get you back up."

With a last look at the barely conscious Grindina and Di Roy, I heaved myself up with an overwhelming sense of vengeance .

…

My re-entrance brought stellar results. All around me eyebrows were raised as I approached our side of the bench. Needless to say every step I took was telling me the painkillers were losing their magic, the throbbing sensation served as an obstacle for me to smirk and do my usual thing. Indeed I was sweating like some sinner under scrutiny. Upon reaching my team, astounded gazes charged at me, the type one would give to someone who had risen from the dead.

"I know what's going on in that head of yours and I won't allow it." Was coach's opening remark. As it was, the temptation to respond cockily almost overtook me.

"Coach, I'm not about to go easy on the fact that some faggot and his oversized warthog pawn have almost killed two of our guys."

"This war has its rules, Grimmjow."

"Is Shuhei-kun taking my place as quarterback? That makes him next in line for the infirmary then." With a mocking grin, I bared my teeth for everyone to see, the pain in my arm making me feel faint already.

"Nothing you say will faze me, and that's that! Now sit the hell down."

Starrk gave me a commiserating look which I derided with a smirk. He was taller than all of our teammates, excepting Omaeda, but it was his conduct, his inherent lack of emotional strain rather than his stature, that amazed everybody. Exhausted beyond description, as he had been playing both on defense and offense all this time, he placed a hand on my shoulder, assuring,

"We've got this."

Now sitting on the bench, watching my teammates fight tooth and nail with every inch of their flesh and spirit, I garbled from behind Coach Muruguma,

"Coach, let me ask you something."

My remark was honored with a glare, which pretty much said I had no business wasting his time.

"What, kid?"

"I heard you were RB when you were in college—like Hisagi."

"Is this the painkiller talking?"

"What a coincidence that you two share the same jersey number. Anyway, it must have been swell entering the Finals. I'm just wondering if I'll ever know the feeling…" I said, because I specialized in guilt-tripping.

"Grimmjow, I know you're dying to go back out there but it's one thing to risk injuries for the win; it's another to be completely reckless."

"I'm not scared of losing this fucking arm. It's _your_ fault, coach. You once said losing is the only thing an athlete ought to be afraid of."

Just then his facial expression loosened to a remarkable extent. Sighing resignedly, he yielded,

"You should've heard them when you were downstairs. 'We'll avenge captain, Di Roy and Nakeem', 'Let's gang-rape that Izuru.' and all that silly talk. You'd think this was a Pee Wee league. What I'm saying is, trust us on this, Grimmjow."

That was sufficient to calm me down for a while. I allowed the game to drone on until I could sit down uselessly no longer. I took the moment of repose after a timeout as a cue to gather the referee's attention. Mikasa by this time had coveted the lead. The score then was 29-28, with a little over one minute left into the game.

"Sub me." I approached the official, causing my bench-men teammates to gawk.

The referee examined me from head to toe, and, behind me, coach gasped in mortification. Well, if they had been so intent on making me behave in the fucking first place they should've strapped me down with padlocked metal chains, or knocked me unconscious.

"Granted." The ref conceded. At that, I left coach standing there, his mouth wide open, aghast.

On the other hand, Gio Vega hurried over me, looking entirely relieved to be discharged,

"You're sure about this, cap?"

I smirked, in spite of the intense pain in my arm, "Sorry, brat. Your fifteen minutes of fame expire now."

Upon reaching my teammates, I wasted no time to sputter my plans. All the while, the bombardment of impressions they were giving me was annoying me shitless.

"Captain, your arm..." Hisagi offered worriedly, to which I ignored him,

"Here's what's gonna happen; right now, I mean to throw a wimp-length toss on you, Shiba. I'm using my left arm so the adjustment's on you." I buried my gaze on Ganju Shiba, who frowned. What did I expect? No one truly believed I could fucking throw a shit.

Well, I threw two consecutive short passes with my left arm, thereby gaining a total of eight yards. Truth was, both were sloppy passes, as I was nowhere near ambidextrous. Still, I was thankful Liones had been a quarter of a second late in killing me again. Before the Third Down, however, I announced loud enough for everyone to hear,

"Long pass coming right up, motherfuckers!"

Everyone was staring blankly at me. To test the strength of my resolution, Hisagi challenged,

"Don't tell us you're using your mangled arm. Coach will kill you-granted you don't die of it."

"Oh, you think I'm joking?"

I didn't wait for his reply, and instead I went on to direct the formation. Upon reading what hocus pocus I was gonna pull, Hitsugaya mumbled to their Corner Back,

"This dude ain't for real. He's throwing a huge pass-with his dead arm. I mean, he's not ambidextrous, is he?"

"Don't be fooled, Toshiro. Long pass my ass. I bet my soul it's another pathetic short pass or a handoff to Hisagi."

"But, sempai, this formation—it's a Hail Mary Pass."

And then I threw the long pass with my half-dead arm, thereby learning no amount of painkillers could've blocked the pain flaring through my bicep. Shiba, who caught it perfectly, was stopped forty-eight yards before our goal line, just as planned.

"Time out!"

With thirteen seconds remaining, Mikasa's coach called for the last timeout, upbraiding his team, his remarks brimming with every conceivable expletive. But we all knew it was just for emphasis. I walked over the bench with a queer feeling; I felt like I had killed a puppy or something. Coach pulled me by the helmet before anything else,

"I'll say this once, Grimmjow; you are one suicidal fucker. I can just send you straight to the morgue now. How's that arm?"

"Fine." I lied.

"Like hell I'd believe that."

"It's kicked the bucket. I won't be able to throw a shit from here on out." I gave in.

Coach sighed wearily, saying, his leniency unbecoming of him, "Be that as it may, I have every right to hear what miracle you're probing next."

At this point, in the minds of our opponents they must have been aware they still had an overwhelming advantage; 13 seconds left and 48 more yards to go. We were one point down. Well, we had Starrk who was capable of kicking anyone's ass from one hell to another. This meant he was gonna be our savior, our ticket to the finals should he manage to bottle a three-point kick. And so I answered,

"We will end it on the next play. Starrk will kick it. There's no way for Shiba or Hisagi to run it all the way, obviously."

The pressure Starrk was feeling, apart from tremendous, was harrowing. But he went on to act coolly while, all around him, our teammates' teeth must have been chattering, their knees prattling.

"If I manage to hurl it over that goalpost, we'll score three points and then there will be no way for Mikasa to catch up, correct?" Starrk asked, as if he didn't know better.

"You catch on quick, dipshit. 48 yards ain't nothing but a joke to you, or am I giving you too much credit? Understand that you have no fucking choice." I stressed, our faces inches apart. It looked like I was about to kiss him.

Just then, we both jeered. For some reason, the maniacal expressions on our faces were suddenly transformed into mirthful laughter for everyone else to stare transfixed at us, as if we'd lost our minds. In due time, we assumed our formation, shaking our heads off. In truth, we mutually thought it was appropriate to behave that way, if only to dispel the tension.

"Alright, boss. Uhm, how're ya holding up?" Starrk coaxed, still grinning like an idiot.

"Kick it within three seconds. Anything longer and I'll collapse right here. Do not look at Liones; _everyone _will protect you."

"Ready when you are, commander."

"Hut!"

The ball was snapped on to me instantly. From the corners of my eyes I could see the scrimmage line collapsing. With what presence of mind I still had left, I stuck the ball on the kicking tee one and a half yards away from Starrk, who pounced on it, only to stop within a foot of me. Before his foot slammed against the leather, I barely had time to pull away and to give heed to the pang of pain shooting through my upper arm. But Starrk's long kick was like a high-speed cannon straight into the Tigers' guts. And when the ball soared off toward the horizon and well over the goal line, the succeeding silence was broken only by the ref's whistle, which was followed by his announcement.

"Field goal in! 29-31 in favor of the Panthers."

There were still five seconds left into the game. At that, I exited the field, my teammates going wild as escaped apes, just in time for the Defense team to replace us. The last seconds were carried out with the Tigers' Placekicker replicating our play, knowing the distance had been impossible to start with. So now none of it mattered as the score stayed the way it had after the kick. We were going to the Finals, against either Genshijin or Karakura.

My teammates lifted coach over their shoulders with the collective might of what remained of their strength. As for me, I resolved to stay where I was, placated. My eyes then found the spot in the stands where Ginjo Kugo was. He was on standing ovation, his smile so wide I was sure it was fucking fake. Beside him Ichigo was as motionless as a fucking statue. Without examining in the least what I was currently feeling, I raised my good arm and pointed my index finger at Kugo for everyone to see.

_Meet me at the finals, motherfucker. I'll show you what happens to assholes who dare take away what's mine. _Was the challenge I intended to channel to him.

But Starrk was already skipping steps toward me.

"Dude, you okay?"

"Shit…"

I wobbled, never realizing I was pressing myself against him. In the next second, my vision went completely black.

…

"Ichigo." Was the first word I came to utter upon waking up. It was, if anything, involuntary.

Dazed, I was on a hospital bed, but upon looking down I saw that I was still wearing my jerseys. Not long after this observation did I hear Ulquiorra,

"Do you want your stepbrother? He's outside." He was seated on the side of the bed, Starrk standing beside him.

"Hell no." I denied.

"You've just _called _out his name." Ulquiorra insisted pointedly and it only made me wanna strangle him.

"I fucking did not. Anyway, I wanna get off this shit already."

"You will be discharged in a day or two. It was actually the pain and the fatigue that did you in. But you will need to get a cast and a sling for your recovery."

"It wasn't a dream, right?" I asked stupidly.

Starrk was the one who answered,

"Of course we've won, dumby. Coach and the others were here a while ago but it was getting too late so no one bothered to stay long. They all promised to be back tomorrow. Uhm, do you want us out? I need to get home before midnight."

"Fine. I'll kill you if you don't show yourselves tomorrow."

"Yes, boss. Shall I tell your bro to step in once we're out?"

When Starrk offered this, it took all my self-control to refrain from hurling a damned object at him, and that was because he was grinning meaningfully. But then I remembered he was responsible for our victory. Before I could do what I was tempted to do, Ulquiorra shot upright, pulled his boyfriend by the elbow and darted to the door. As a parting remark, he concluded,

"We're counting on you to make it in time for the finals match."

They disappeared at that, but almost at the same instant Ichigo stepped in. Wearing his varsity sweater, he was a perfect reminder of those annoying jocks whose sight had never failed to irritate me.

"Our parents and your other dad are down at the cafeteria."

"You kissed the asshole. Don't you deny it." At the exact same second when I blurted this out, I became wholly convinced I was an idiot with no more self-control than a drunken woman.

"What are you saying?" He all but asked loudly, looking perplexed.

I figured I might as well dislodge the issue, so I said contemptuously, "What else? On your school's parking lot? Doesn't that ring a fucking bell?"

His eyes narrowed, as if trying to remember it, as if it had been something so easily forgotten when I reckoned I myself could not have forgotten that shit if had undergone a lobotomy.

"Wait, was that last week? Were you at Karakura then?"

"Doesn't matter."

"There's a shocker. You're wrong anyhow. I did _not _kiss him."

Of course he had to put up some fucking sick defense. To his credit, he merely had allowed himself to be kissed, but how big a difference was it, really? Maybe my accusation needed rephrasing. Nevertheless, I'd have expected he would right away understand what I was trying to insinuate. Pissed to hell, I retorted,

"Hey, if you know where I'm getting at—"

"—Grimmjow, I'm here to congratulate you and to make peace. I'm sorry for my attitude earlier. But you're leaving after you graduate and it would be a shame for us to part like this—as enemies. Finally, if it's any comfort, there's nothing between me and Ginjo Kugo, I swear."

I wanted to contradict him and tell him he was bullshitting me, but if I had believed otherwise I didn't think I would have been able to stand that either. By now I was getting desperate, for what I still did not know yet until I heard myself,

"Really? Well then, that means I can have you back now."

"…"

"No answer?"

"Grimmjow, whatever happens—"

"—know what, that's exactly the kind of hesitation that will culminate to a flat 'no'."

"You're flying to America, as you ought to remember. What use is getting back together?"

"Screw that. So what now, Kurosaki?"

Panic-stricken, he struggled to phrase words which came out as air. But I didn't get an answer because my mother, Dr. Kurosaki and Sousuke had arrived. Right then, bitterly I had to accept we were really over _for good_. I wondered if he even in the least could imagine what it felt like to be the receiving end of all this bitterness. It turned out my feelings for him were so deep as to cast me into what seemed like a never-ending cycle of heartache. If I had known in the past that a broken heart would hurt this much, that it would cost more than I could've bargained for, I never would have dreamed of kissing Kurosaki Ichigo on that one fateful evening, which now seemed forever ago.

Bottom line was, I had tried to win him back but all he wanted was to be done with me. I had tried and had failed; end of fucking story.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen: Defeat

…

How Karakura had managed to butcher Genshijin was beyond me, but all discussions about said match led to Ginjo Kugo and Shukuro Tsukishima. It appeared these two had single-handedly slaughtered last year's champion, which pretty much meant Karakura was the best offensive team Japan had seen. If they could kick monumental amounts of asses, they could very well kick ours on any given day.

The worst was, I wasn't in mint condition. While the past few days had done beyond miracles for my recovery, the rest of my recuperation process simply told me there were things in this world that were, flat out, off-limits. I wasn't gonna be one hundred percent healed by the time the show between the Panthers and the Wolves got underway. I felt cheated, robbed of my right to make something out of my life, but then nobody really cheated me, so all there was to blame was myself, my inadequacy, the brittleness of my bones.

Soon, the match was upon us. I was prepared to be underestimated, to be criticized, and perhaps to be made the bottom of japes among the press. We were, after all, the underdog here.

But while I had failed to expect a lot of things, among these was my nomination in the MVP roster. I'd have thought they had removed my name long ago. First of all, I hardly deserved merit, especially when I had been crippled not quite halfway through the quarterfinals. Many had said I had orchestrated on that game some of the best plays the league had seen, with a broken arm to boot, but what were words, really? At any rate, before the Finals match opened via coin toss, everybody in the audience already had a clear idea as to whose name it was which would be singled-out today as the league's best fucking athlete. Ginjo Kugo. I could see it from the way the Head Commissioner carried the much coveted trophy. Hell, it was even obvious right from the fucking way Asuka Katakura, last year's MVP, handled the precious perfumed envelope, whose otherwise blank page had the name Ginjo Fucking Kugo printed on it. And so,

"Before the most important match in the tournament starts," The commissioner announced, his voice shaky with age, "I would like to honor a particular athlete, whose performance throughout the season has brought about inspiration to us, to spectators and to his fellow athletes alike. We measure an athlete, for the most part, by his _spirit _and not by statistics. Know that numbers are absolute but they aren't everything. That is why this award is known as the Most Valuable Player Award rather than the Most Athletic Player Award…"

Blah blah blah.

"Kugo…Kugo…" The crowd hummed on, as if any other name had the slightest chance of usurping a glory which was permanently his. Jesus. This was going to be boring as hell, and don't get me talking about 'predictable'. In any case, Commissioner dude went on,

"I won't hold you in suspense any longer, so I am extremely honored to present this award to _Grimmjow Jaggerjack Azuma_."

Silence.

Whose. Fucking. Idea. Of. A. Joke. Was. This.

I stood there, frozen like everyone else, silent as a fucking assassin, my face blank as a sheet…believing there must have been either a typo somewhere in that fucking envelope or a fucking jinx in my ears.

"May I present this award to Grimmjow Jaggerjack Azuma?" Commissioner repeated over the microphone, over the heads of the stupefied audience.

Behind him, Asuka Katakura was beaming at me with satisfaction. Was he truly going to bequeath his title to me? Me, of all fucking jerks? For him to smile like that, perhaps this commemoration brought about a certain recollection to him. Besides being MVP, he had also been mangled last year. Like me.

I felt myself bombarded with stupefied gazes. No surprises here if I was already shriveling up like some slug in a bowl of salt… Really, just who was the fucking dimwit who thought this prank was going to be funny? I was all set up to demonstrate what indignity looked like, or to holler at the officials to correct their disgracing mistake, when Coach Kensei landed a hand on my shoulder, gently prompting,

"Kid, go up there now."

Reluctantly and seemingly under a spell, looking neither presentable nor happy, I walked over to the platform to be daunted by the spotlight. That was when Shawlong, the shameless bastard, yelled '_All hail the Jaguar King_!' at the top of his lungs. At that, the crowd erupted into a deafening applause. There was no recalling how I had accepted the trophy and to whom I had addressed my so-called gratitude. Hell, I might've made a grand idiot out of myself sputtering random unintelligible shit. But when I fell back in line with the rest of the Panthers, my teammates were awaiting me with the widest grinning mouths I had ever seen on human faces.

"Make way for his majesty!" Hisagi was imitating a lackey, bowing so low in an awful curtsey.

"Mr. MVP," Starrk started, "looks like from now on I'm gonna find it hard to determine which nickname best suits you."

"Save your breath. Congratulate me after we butcher some wolves." was my reply.

And so the game commenced.

As in all their previous games, Karakura's strong point was in their offense. With a record-breaking number of touchdown passes and zero interceptions, Ginjo Kugo and Shukuro Tsukishima were the key to Karakura's unparalleled Offense. Kugo was dynamic in his passes and precise in his decisions. He was currently the best high school athlete in Japan, so in reality I could just fuck my MVP trophy. But we, the Panthers, had gotten here the hard way. We'd plowed through our road mainly through sheer luck, and along the way there had been a series of dream-eating misfortunes—injuries for instance. Now that we were here, however, our goal was to cast aside the league's most successful team. By the end of the first half, however, we'd only gained one hundred and twenty-nine yards in total. With little to no option in trying to get points back, Starrk and the other Punt-kicker in the team were the busiest dudes on the field.

We all worked our asses, believing ourselves invincible in so long as we did our very best. But the combination of Kugo and Tsukishima was, indeed, the death of us.

I could go on and on about how we fucked up, but what would be the use of that?

Bottom line was, _**we lost**_.

I could honestly say we came short in every area. After all the effort, that was what the Panthers amounted to. Losers. Just who did we think we were, defeating Kyoushin and nailing Mikasa shut in a casket, to ultimately end up second best to Karakura? So great was my anguish that Vega had to poke my back when the time came for the victors and the losers to line up face to face in the middle of the field. Within that span of time dedicated to congratulating our opponent, I struggled to achieve the self-restraint everyone else appeared to have been born with. Really, I could've smothered Kugo, Tsukishima or their cocky coach to death. But Kugo had this cordial air about him when he extended a hand to me, and yet, in my mind, every contortion he pulled with his face, cordial or otherwise, was fucking poison to me.

Henceforth, Kugo became the embodiment of every fucking thing I had failed to secure; this game, for instance. Ichigo, for another.

"Thank you for the game, Mr. MVP." He whispered in my ear, his lips touching skin.

Hardly had the confetti started pouring down when we took flight in the dugout, to give free rein to our emotions, to maybe scream our lungs out or cry a little. As for me, I could not determine what manner of release I ought to employ. Once there, however, the most unendurable lecture awaited each of us. Coach Kensei Muruguma started, his eyes on me,

"Grimmjow, your passes were all amazingly on target despite your partially healed arm, but what has made you genuinely worthy of the MVP award is your choices of plays and the spirit you've brought to this team. When it comes down to it, no one in the league can hold a candle to you. Too bad Karakura's unbelievably talented QB is coupled with an equally talented Receiver. To me, however, the best quarterback is you."

Before long he was praising Hisagi, profusely emphasizing he had never before now coached so fierce an RB. He next delegated his dedication to Omaeda, so that at this point his eyes had started to water. When it was Starrk's turn to receive coach's gratitude, Gio Vega started to sniff like someone afflicted by some serious flu. Nevertheless, the dedication droned on, without me fully understanding how or why we had lost. It also didn't help that Lisa was sobbing at the corner, her head bent so low I wanted to smother her with a pillow or something to block the sorry sight that she was. Never minding all these distractions, Coach continued to recite what sounded like a eulogy, but I had not the mental focus to drink in whatever else there was to hear. Upon the approach of night, however, I found myself being embraced by him, my mentor,

"It's over, coach."

Like a father off to part with a son, he was brimming with pride, but the sadness remained where it was.

"It's not the end, Grimmjow. Go take on the college league by storm."

_We lost, and that's all there is to it_, I wanted to point out.

For all I knew, life was over. And because it was rest-assured over, there was nothing left for me in Japan. This time, I meant to proceed to America in earnest. Escape the pain, the disappointment, the grief.

Leave everything behind, including Kurosaki Ichigo; that was my resolve.

…

The knock on my door came when I was just about starting to sink in again into depression. I figured it would do me no good to continuously run away from the sense of defeat because it was doing its best to follow me everywhere anyway.

"What?"

"It's me-Ichigo."

"…"

"May I come in?"

Reconciliation, closure—these were the things I had always known to accept through impulse but seldom through conscious thought. As of the moment, I could hardly forgive my stepbrother for kissing someone like Ginjo Kugo, the very reminder of the Panthers' defeat. But who was I to demand anything now?

"Sure."

He looked neat, but even the neat rows of bangs hanging over his forehead seemed to threaten me. Before I could say something nasty, he remarked,

"I heard you were leaving."

"Yep."

"Congrats for being MVP, by the way."

"Thanks."

"Leaving finally?" And here he was, tinkering with stupid questions at the very minute the rest of my life was to be decided. And so I felt impelled to somehow honor him an explanation,

"I've given my word to my father. America seems to be the only way forward for me. In short, I need to go on with the mess I like to call life."

"Explain, please."

"I need to cool a little. I have lately learned a lot of things. First and foremost, I need to stop getting angry at the world. You taught me that. Secondly, there's the reality that I can't have the best of both worlds. It was Ginjo Kugo, or his existence, that taught me that. As for forgiveness and letting bygones be bygones, I owe it to my whore professor. For the rest, I'll let America and college football offer it to me."

It would be hard to attribute the darkness that fell on his face to something other than disappointment. I had hoped that by serving him the naked truth I could win back his esteem, but then I was wrong. Somehow, deep down inside, I wished to settle our accounts, and be done with all this grudge. And then he asked,

"Will you come back?"

"Perhaps. Depends on the life I'll find there. But…"

"But what?"

I composed myself, held out a hand to him and smiled like I used to. For him to end up in my arms was all I wanted at the moment, and yet a part of me was fighting against a sad and inevitable conclusion. Somehow, the promptings of my flesh prevailed. I requested,

"Come here, Ichigo. Give yourself to me one _last _time."

I found myself engulfed by a desire. From the dim region of what could be called lust, I fought hard against pinning Ichigo against the nearby wall, to render him vulnerable, helpless, clad in nothing but skin. Being at the mercy of whatever that might come his way, he, for his part, allowed himself to be swept off his feet. Once shoved down my bed, he resigned himself to whatever power I still had over him. Inside that room, I did everything right, all at the right time to bring out the man in us both, so easily, so many times in so small an amount of time, as if neither of us had known the pleasure of making love until now. We climaxed, over and over again, thereby disposing ourselves to forget all that had transpired before this very moment, and after it.

For all this, _nothing _would stop me from leaving; not even endless nights like this.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen: Jaguar Reborn

…

"_You're choosing football over me?"_

"_If you like to think of it that way."_

That, I believed, had been our last conversation. On the same night, we had ended up in bed as if tomorrow would've had us face the same challenges, the same drudgery. In truth, I had decided to leave that world behind.

It felt like so long ago when in fact it had only been two years. I had moved to America with my biological father, in the hopes of having my football skills exploited to a more sophisticated level. Luckily, my so-called talents were enough to warrant the attention of one of the more reputable universities in California. Thus for one lone stretch of time, I came to be a budding professional athlete of a promising reputation. This was not to say few ever came close to match my abilities. This was America, where Gridiron Football was serious business, which went to say I was simply one among those gifted, young athletes whose potentials had yet to be fully tested. All in all, that hardly made me exceptional.

Somehow I was now feeling a remorse such as only a disillusioned dreamer felt for those who were still unaware that they were chasing the wrong dream. At first, I had resolved to dedicate my entire self to football, heart and soul. Naturally, soon I came to attend wild parties, to mingle with the worst and the best of people and to allow myself to be seduced by many a temptation. Being a football jock automatically warranted me the best of privileges in the social circles I moved into. That was to say, I was always, always, on the brink of getting laid, but whenever I unzipped my pants I would even be more sure I had to zip it back. How many cunts had been offered me? How many hearts had I broken? How many women had left their men on account of me? How many times had I locked myself in the bedroom of some random house with a girl, only to end up backing out as soon as we'd reached third base? There had never been a fucking homerun. And then contrary to expectations, the women kept on coming, as if my regular refusal rendered me enigmatic, hard-to-get, the great catch. In truth, I couldn't stand the liberty with which these bitches were conducting themselves.

In truth, _he _was that one person to whom I could give the whole of myself.

Now, the NFL might have been keeping an eye on me, and yet the thought of it hardly made me forget about my motherland. Many times I had asked myself, 'Why did I ever leave Japan?' If I were to be honest, I'd say it was because I had wanted to run away from the mess I had made out of my life. The fact was, having been elected high school MVP had done nothing to erode the sense of defeat that was plaguing my soul. I could even argue that that bogus award had been handed to me because I had sacrificed my arm. It then followed I had owed being an MVP to Edrad Liones.

One might assume I had lost all sense of proportion in my outlook in life the moment we had lost against Karakura Gakuen. The fact was, from that defeat many a realization had entailed: _we lost because we weren't good enough; I wasn't good enough, just as I had been inadequate to overcome the trials thrown my way_. When this self-sympathetic nitshit had finally run its course, I came to realize running away wasn't the only option in sight.

There was always the choice to come back, and be the asshole I had once been. Upon hearing of my change of heart, Sousuke merely glanced at me. "Pops, I'm going back to Japan." was the best thing I could come up with. If I had had it in me to be entirely shameless, I would've said he was amused.

"We really _are _father and son."

"What?" Taken aback, this was all I managed to say. But the way he was looking at me had me figuring he was lonesome enough to tell me his whole story. And so he did,

"When your mother ultimately decided she had to screen me out of her life entirely, I repaid that affront by trying to turn my back too—by running away, so to speak. Of course I did make it a point to pay child support but, all the same, I was determined to never personally see her face again and to conduct minimal correspondence between us. And then two years ago, I found myself flying to Japan and asking for the son I had never seen in person. I guess first love is really hard to let go of, isn't it?"

"I don't get it." I forced myself to say. Really, he was sounding creepy, aside from making me nervous. Just why was he blithering around with this 'first love' crap? Did he manage to somehow guess that my head, ever since I had set foot here, had been filled with thoughts of a certain someone day-in and day-out?

"Let's just say, the secondary reason for my wanting to be a part of your life is my desire to keep a connection with your mother. Don't get me wrong, son; I'm not in love. But maybe, just maybe, it's safe to assume that a part of me, particularly that eighteen-year old lad inside me, still yearns for those short summer days where she and I knew so much joy."

What a creepy dude. That aside, I was sure he was giving me his consent.

Yep, I was gonna return. I had to go back to the football I knew, to the people in my life, to Ginjo Kugo in order to settle the unresolved business between us.

To Ichigo Kurosaki, ultimately.

…

Ulquiorra wasn't the sociable type, not even behind a monitor and a fucking keyboard, hence it didn't come as a surprise when it took him two whole weeks to return my email. I told him I needed someone to pick me up from the fucking airport one month thence. His initial response to the news of my return was nothing quite worth noting. He did, however, ask what my reasons were, to which I readily supplied him the answer he needed: I was going to settle down in Japan. For that, I was called a moron whose blunders in life were due to the opportunities I was stupid enough to pass on. I then told him I was going to wring his neck as soon as he showed himself at the airport.

—One month later—

The Narita International Airport was, of course, buzzing with passengers. My head felt light from the fifteen-hour flight, but what made everything worse was the amount of people on the floor. I was lucky to make it to the arrivals area without having to yell at strangers. Once there, I kept my eyes peeled for Ulquiorra. And there he was. In spite of the array of neatly dressed men around him, and despite the posture of meekness which made him seem smaller than he truly was, Ulquiorra made his presence felt by me by appearing like some stone statue amid the hustle and bustle.

"You've grown leaner." Was the first thing he said.

"And you've grown prettier and taller. How are you and Starrk?" I was smirking as I said this. Indeed, his longer, pony-tailed hair rendered him more attractive than ever.

But although he ignored me, he was kind enough to relieve me of one of the many carry-on items I had brought. Several minutes later, we were pelting down the highway for a two-hour drive to our hometown. He started, his eyes fixated on driving,

"Let me get this straight; you're forfeiting University of South California for what?"

This was a question I wasn't prepared to answer. I was coming home as a third-year college student, in the hopes that some obscure university here in Kanto would accept me and accredit the units I had covered in my previous school. At almost twenty-one years old, I was yet to be in the prime of my youth therefore I was, once again, going to rely on my athletic capabilities to back me up.

"And what about you? What are you doing in Keio University? You could've made it to Tokyo U without a fucking sweat."

"Would you answer my question if I answered yours?"

"Sure, why not?" I said, with a voice that both mocked and wondered.

"I wanted to be with Starrk."

"…"

That really did shut me up. Starrk, as a matter of fact, was now playing for Keio U's football team and was likely to be team captain next year. But I no longer felt inclined to make sniding remarks in reference to their ambiguous relationship, nor to point out the errors in the choice Ulquiorra had made. In the very heart of things, he was doing what his heart had told him to. All the same, it didn't change the fact that he himself had made a blunder in the very least. I mean, he had to screw up at some freaking point in his life, right?

"Your turn."

"Football, I suppose."

"Really. And you are one hundred percent sure that the college football here would bring more satisfaction to you in the long run than the college football over there in Cali?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

It was his turn to sneer now. Despite that, I knew he'd understand me but still I felt that, even when he was speaking bluntly, he hardly saw it fit to side with me. For a moment there, I wanted to be rid of Ulquiorra, and yet I found a certain comfort in talking to him, as though we'd been alone like this way before through other occasions, in other places. And so I reasoned,

"That game against Karakura Gakuen killed me—in a way. There's no use elaborating, as no one apart from myself can really understand or interpret the extent of what went inside me when we lost. But let's just say on and on the realizations poured down. Subsequently I was forced to do for myself what others could not; I attempted to forget everything—by turning my back. Eventually, however, it occurred to me that running away wasn't the answer. If I wanted to be free of the shit that haunt me, I had to face it. It took me two years' worth of stay in California to realize that much. Yes, you could say I've come back to right the wrong… to win a championship and pluck out a thorn in the side." I withheld from Ulquiorra's knowledge another deep reason for returning; I so desired to shove Kugo's face into the dirt in whatever means I could find. The truth was, I'd never really forgiven him for kissing Ichigo on that fucking parking lot.

"Passion is a wonderful force." He said.

Silence enclosed us for several minutes until my voice pierced through it, as I was itching to broach the subject,

"So… in one of Starrk's emails, he mentioned that Kugo, Hisagi, Madarame, Tsukishima, Omaeda and Abarai all attend Hitotsubashi University. All them fucking big names. The most exceptional high school football players of my time crowding in in one team. In short, an army of aces. Tell me they're not trying to build an empire of the best college football team in Japan."

"As a matter of fact, they are."

I rubbed my chin, imagining for myself the excitement this info held for me. Of course I could not deny that the alliance between these athletes was some kind of a monstrosity. Still…

"Interesting."

"In the elimination round last season, they swept us—Keio University—without so much as dispatching their first-stringers on the field. Tell me, Grimmjow, are you going to enroll at Hitotsubashi? Their scouts would break their necks to get their hands on a high school MVP, and USC's quarterback at that too."

I could tell he was awaiting my answer with what suspense his nature allowed. For my part, I could not, in honor, surrender myself to such an enterprising league of athletes…much less forsake Starrk. Indeed, I would never betray Starrk even if my life depended on it. To cut the suspense, I turned the radio off, and went on,

"What, to be teammates with Kugo? Did you for a fucking second think I'd rest content with being a reserve quarterback?"

"You were named MVP instead of him. Maybe he'd be the reserve."

"That bullshit award was nothing more than a consolation prize for my injury."

"You know it's not."

He was right. In the course of two years, I had come to understand why I had been named MVP. But I brushed the topic off, and said,

"Whatever. Anyway, by now Hitsugaya Toshiro is graduating from high school."

"In a few days, in fact. He is the reigning MVP of the High School League."

"I will _need _his speed." I declared.

"…" Ulquiorra did not speak, his eyes darting at me every so often.

I continued, "I believe Yumichika Ayasegawa, who lost the MVP title to Hisagi in their senior year, is currently attending your school too. And then there's the murderer Kira Izuru. What is he doing in Keio anyway?"

"I'm not so sure, Grimmjow, but he no longer plays the quarterback position."

"Good. Moving on, Ganju Shiba has chosen to follow your BF. Edrad Liones seems to be leaning on joining you guys instead of Hitotsubashi, if Starrk's words could be relied upon. So what is this, some patch-up array of pseudo-aces created for the sole purpose of matching Hitotsubashi's unbelievable roster? Is this the kind of challenge Starrk is so fond of brewing? My, my, isn't your boyfriend plunging into his captain duties one year too early?"

"Who knows, really?"

"You're telling me you know nothing about what's behind this? Your skills in digression have lost its gloss, hasn't it, Ulquiorra?"

"Maybe you ought to ask Starrk and these dudes you've mentioned as to why they're flocking together in one university… did I mention Gio Vega is enrolling there as well?"

I had to laugh out loud. For the last two years, I had been getting email updates from Coach Muruguma as to how my former team, the Nagano Panthers, had been faring along. With a smirk across my face, I continued, "From where I stand, Keio University has, or is slated to have, a line-up that could rival Hitotsubashi's, except that they're wanting of a superb quarterback. I heard your current QB is second-rate." I just could not help the viciousness that crossed my lips. Really. A person like me was exactly what Keio University needed. Although the idea in my head suggested no immediate reality, there was no way I'd allow myself to be abashed this time. Not now.

Having realized I was, in point of fact, whoring myself as the next premier quarterback of his university, Ulquiorra said, "I can attest to that. Anyway, try-outs are going to start on Tuesday. It appears you've arrived just in time. Looks like it's you, me and Starrk all over again."

"I was scheduled to be first-string quarterback of the USC Trojans upon my third year, asshole. What kind of coach or manager in his or her right mind would degrade me as to require me to attend a fucking try-out?"

"For formality's sake. In any case, it seems your and Starrk's priority is to successfully recruit the Hitsugaya kid—to ultimately prevent him from getting lured by Kugo and his army of gods."

"Toshiro Hitsugaya was whipped around by Hisagi Shuhei in his rookie year, right in front of everyone's eyes. One year later I was told the same thing happened. Do you really think he is so blinded by ambition that he would join the star-studded Hitotsubashi, only to yield the premier RB position to the very same man who has seared a scar on his ass? Hitsugaya is mine; make no mistake about that."

Ulquiorra perhaps had to contain his delight, otherwise he'd appear completely out of character. Although he was the type who never spoke of affairs until he was asked, even pressed, he offered,

"Let's see the look on the face of Keio's coach once the Jaguar King returns from the dead to show up in the try-outs, with the Baby Genius beside him."

Far away form his knowledge, my mind was now gadding somewhere else.

_Wait for me, Kurosaki, _I all but blurted aloud.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty: Reunited

…

The meeting between me, my mother, my little bro, Dr. Kurosaki and his daughters wasn't something you'd describe as heartfelt. After all, I had consistently talked to mother and Szayel via Skype during my absence. I had recently learned that Szayel had started showing interest in sports, in Euro Football in particular. The news revealed nothing but that he idolized Ichigo more than me. The little bugger. And to think I was so intent on rearing him as a QB like me…

It took about two hours to narrate to them the smaller details. By the time everyone was ready to retire to his/her own business, Ichigo still hadn't arrived from a birthday party somewhere. I began to wonder what he looked like now. I was mentally guessing because we hadn't talked for more than two years.

For the meantime, my old room in the attic was waiting for me. It was gathering dust. To be quite honest, moving back in the house didn't strike me as an inviting choice. I was now almost twenty-one years of age, with two years of college education under my belt. This fact might have precluded some eligibility for a job but it wasn't gonna be easy. Although getting a place of my own and being able to feed myself were the original plan, there remained a lot of prerequisites for those. And relying on the allowance Sousuke was providing me was kinda making me feel less of a man. He, after all, was sentenced to fund my college education until the end. As of now, at least for the next few months, the only choice I had was to abuse the hospitability of my parents.

But my mental processes took the backseat as soon as a figure emerged at the doorway.

He had grown taller—maybe 5'11".

My stepbrother was now eighteen and a half years old and was graduating from high school. The truth was, our fated reunion had made it a point to toy around my imagination these past few weeks. For my part, I'd welcome him with open arms, maybe. He would kiss me, like a long lost friend or something closer, but then I'd pull my pants down and unbuckle his goddamned belt before long—

I had to gasp.

I got punched in the tummy—Hell, what the fuck was that? Here I was, expecting something bittersweet, and what I got instead was a fucking fist in the stomach? In a desperate bid to catch my breath, I staggered back on my bed, my throat choking back what felt like a build-up of lumps.

"The fuck was that for?" I demanded. Frankly, it was difficult to bring myself to show anything resembling leniency to what he had just done, but perhaps he had his reasons, so then I restrained myself from returning the physical blow.

In his face was a sharpness that could only have been resentment, which was further intensified by the dim light in my room. Apart from that, his hair appeared longer and more disheveled now, as if there was a deliberate attempt to make his entire appearance more adult-like. If you asked me, I'd say he was looking more or less ten times more dishy than he had been two years previously, and that was not mentioning the more angular edges his face had acquired. Jesus, what would I give to bring him into my arms right now? Shoving him down my bed looked like a very inviting option, really. However, to tell him that at a time like this would no doubt be fatal.

"What, you ask, brother? That's for the two fucking years you went about without batting a freaking word to me. Not even a message via Facebook? Why, I ought to ram something in your crotch." He was hissing the words. Indeed, the crease on his brow was lending him an aspect of some beast.

"I don't have a fucking Facebook account. If you're talking about the fan page, you might as well yell at a breaking dam. It's the bitches in USC that created that shit."

"Really."

"As if I'd call myself Rockstar QB or some cheesy crap like the Blue Jock."

"No emails; no texts even? In fact, not a fucking word. I had to ask your mom every now and then to know what you had been up to. So what am I, a fucking _oversight_?"

"Well…"

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, jerk?"

Here it must be admitted that I'd had my shortcomings too. But, while I had deliberately abstained from contacting him during my stay in the US, the same had been true with him. Not once had he corresponded with me via email, nor had he bothered to incite my mom into mentioning his name in her letters. Just who was he to talk?

"I was trying to detach myself… Er, how long have you known I meant to come back anyway?"

"A month now. Karin told me. She overheard your mom talking to my dad about it."

"Doesn't Karin hate me?" I asked.

"Used to."

"What does that mean-she doesn't hate me anymore?"

He sighed.

"After we broke up at that time, she was practically pestering me to, like, swallow my pride or something. I never really knew what she meant by it. What the hell. Why are you changing the topic?"

"Why are _you _changing the topic? Why would Karin act like that?" I demanded back. I began to wonder what his sister's reasons had been for encouraging her brother to make amends with me. He gave up being dodgy by then,

"Fine. She noticed I'd been lonely. Fucking happy already?"

It now appeared I owed my stepsister an apology. Moving on, I pursued,

"Why did you ever dump me in the first place? I did tell you I was done with that woman."

"Here we go again, changing the fucking subject."

"Ichigo, I just asked you a serious question."

"What good is answering that one?" He was visibly annoyed now. But the correct attitude for me was to stay quiet, in anticipation of the row I was sure to win. In due time, he was heard saying, "Frankly, even now I still don't know. Maybe because it hurt so damn bad I was sure nothing you could do would've bridged the gap that had opened then."

"Idiot." I muttered.

His facial expression made no other impression than to convince me that he was beginning to accept he had been the one who had made a mistake two years ago; not me. He spoke,

"I was a moron, ok? So can we go back to my original question? Why did you cut me off just like that? I wouldn't have minded a fucking phone call or two."

"There was this danger that I would hear from you something along the lines of '_I'm dating Kugo-sempai now, so you can just fuck yourself_'. Trust me, this fear accompanied me everywhere. More importantly, it hasn't been an easy decision to screen you out. At the end of the day, I wanted to focus on football. So there."

"Moron. Never in a million years would I go out with that _jerk_, not when he had _something _to say about you being the high school MVP."

"What?"

"My schoolmates weren't pleased by the commissioner's and the sports panel's decision. Everyone believed you stole from Kugo-sempai what was rightfully his. Needless to even say, everyone was quick to assume you were held into some special favor because of your injury."

"Do you mean to say Kugo subscribed to that crap?!" I burst forth heatedly. Indeed, if there was one thing that had the power to make my anger subside, it would be the sight of Karakura Gakuen students held in line and getting rammed by Edrad Liones or Omaeda. Jesus, I was burning with the desire to strangle someone.

"On the contrary, Kugo-sempai would come to your defense every time he hears a snide about you and your award. However, he did personally tell me, albeit underhandedly, that he was the better quarterback between the two of you."

What Ichigo said made me feel like a condemned man. Really, the amount of truth in Kugo's claim slaughtered my self-esteem in ways I hadn't experienced ever since I had been a little kid. Because when it came down to it, Ginjo Kugo was the better sportsperson in general. And I simply owed it to anyone who was willing to listen to clarify at least that much.

"Well, he kinda is." I admitted.

"I never would've agreed to that, honestly." He said.

"…"

"Grimmjow, you have to stop underrating and beating yourself up. It's stupid."

"…"

"When Kugo-sempai told me that, it took all my power to stop myself from burying my knuckles in his mouth."

"…" I didn't say a shit, although my mouth was very near to wording '_Dude, I absolutely love you_.'

"You see, when you broke your arm, everyone in the stadium believed your dreams died right then and there. But you came back, not only with a grave injury but with the kind of determination seldom seen among athletes who have just been torn down. That made you the best, a true undisputed MVP, I guess. And for someone like Kugo-sempai to to throw dirt on something like that... I couldn't stand what he was trying to imply, so…"

It seemed like his tongue had outran his better self. To be sure, I hadn't by this time forgotten about the fist he had earlier buried in my fucking stomach. In fact, the throb was still there. But I presided,

"So you told him to go to hell. Tell me so and I'll forget about the punch you gave me for a lousy welcome greeting." Suddenly I was closing in on him. In the moment that followed, the distance between our faces narrowed down to a disagreeable proximity. Never by a glance, nor by even a breath, did he let it be known that he was ready for this. But I was.

I kissed him just then, ready or not. That was the only action commensurate with what I was feeling. With an excitement I took no trouble to conceal, I pulled away with the intention to undo his belt and to unzip his pants, to satisfy two fucking years of no sex whatsoever. Yes, I would fuck his brains out tonight, and not a shit in this world could stop me from doing so.

"Did you ever screw someone else while you were away?" He asked all of a sudden.

"I should ask you the same."

"Answer me."

That he was asking an intrusive question was not my problem. My problem was his lack of faith in me and his aversion to my wild propensities. While I had engaged in an array of sexual experiences rarely encountered by people my age, I had always made it a point not to fuck people unless my sexual appetite or grave necessity called for it. During my stay in Cali, my track record in abstinence was immaculate. I could not have brought myself to screw around because every freaking time the opportunity had presented itself my stepbrother would come hovering into my imagination, as if to bar me from promiscuosity.

"Almost. Near misses."

"Liar."

"If you want proof, lock that fucking door behind you. Now. I'll show you what a two-year abstinence looks like, brother." I said, being the manipulative bastard that I was.

He shut the door. When he did that, my lust spiraled out of control. Just who was I to prevent myself from devouring what was before me, when I had thirsted for it for two fucking years? Why, I almost ripped his shirt apart in my haste to undress the hell out of him. When that was done, the sight of his skin was like an adrenaline shot straight into my heart. I sucked his nipples, ran a palm up his thigh, unbuckling his belt with my free hand. If this wasn't adequate proof of two years' worth of sexual craving, I didn't know what was. And then he proceeded to unbutton my top, as if he himself was being pursued by the same feral arousal. I could maybe undo my fly buttons to make things fare faster, since in the first place my boner was threatening to poke through my underpants, but I was too busy sucking every open skin on his exposed torso.

After two hours, Ichigo and I found ourselves scooping up pieces of our clothing from the floor. Now fully dressed in the same manner he went in some odd hours ago, he stood up to take leave of me, to perhaps end up sleeping the night away in his room. On the other hand, I took no trouble to put on the whole set of outfit I had on earlier. On that respect, I merely produced a pair of boxers and a loose tee from my luggage. He then asked me something relevant that hadn't crossed our minds earlier,

"Have you come back to show Japan what America has done for you?"

The question sounded spontaneous and, unless my imagination was misleading me, it was even innocent. As it was, it took me a while to answer.

"I came back to win this time; not to obtain a one man's victory, like an MVP award. I am here to rally a championship team, if not for any other reason."

"I see. But, you know, your journey toward the NFL should've started over there. In here, we have the Pro League but it's nowhere near as grand as anything you've seen in the west."

"Right now I have lots of regrets for chucking Uncle Sam. I suppose I'll go on dwelling on them for days ahead. But if I don't return here-to my home, my pals, and to you most of all—I'll regret it _not _for days but for the rest of my life, over and over. Every day. Two years. Somewhere there, I realized that's the maximum amount of time I can endure without you. And that's the truth."

A minute ago Ichigo had pried my door open to commence his departure. He was now casting me a tender glance, as he must have been unwilling to leave me alone or to be alone himself. I was not so certain about either of those, but then he lunged back at me, kissing me with force, without giving heed to the open door that now gaped ahead of us. Due to that, the rest of the world hardly mattered now. He pulled away and pressed his mouth against my ear. As he was taller now, the difference in our heights had been reduced to maybe two inches, rendering this kind of intimacy easier to conduct.

And there again we made out standing up. It wouldn't be improbable for us to find ourselves back on the bed at this rate. It must have lasted for several minutes when a cough was heard from behind Ichigo. We disengaged ourselves from one another only to find…

Starrk and Ulquiorra were standing erect on the threshold, their fists stuffed in their pockets. How long had they been standing there? Worse still, Ulquiorra took no trouble to avert his gaze. Naturally, out of the discretion I was in no mood to exercise, I pulled away from my stepbrother.

"Welcome back, Grimmy." Starrk recited casually, not a trace of embarrassment in his manner. His hair was in a pony tail and his skin was more tanned than I remembered it. He looked like a heavy metal rock star rather than an athlete.

"Couldn't you knock or something?" I answered in annoyance.

"Knock on an open door?"

"Something."

"Dunno about that. Aren't you happy to see your _best friend _first time in two years?"

"My BFF Ulquiorra and I have had our sweet reunion five hours ago." I said, just so to piss him off.

"Oh, so I've been fooling myself for ten years now, is that it?" Starrk retorted, beginning to smile.

"Okay, I'm so happy I wanna kiss you right now my future captain. But I would've wished you knew how to announce your arrival."

"FYI, I coughed, and I would've thought the rustle made by nine approaching people was enough distraction to suspend what you were doing."

Did he just say _nine _fucking people? I craned my neck over Ichigo's shoulder, to find no one else other than these two. Upon edging in closer to the door, however, I found that my view of the hallway grew wider, so then it became apparent that seven other people had, in fact, arrived.

"What the fuck is the meaning of this, Ulquiorra?" I solicited.

"You can start asking your brother." Was his answer, to which I turned to Ichigo who face-palmed.

"Er, Ulquiorra-san called me yesterday, to help organize a welcoming surprise party. Haha, sorry about that—must have slipped my mind for awhile. But I've bought everything you asked me to, Ulquiorra-san. They're in the fridge."

Toushiro Hitsugaya, Yumichika Ayasegawa, Kira Izuru, Ganju Shiba, Edrad Liones, Gio Vega and Lisa Yadomaru were idling on the corridor, each sporting a genial expression.

_So these are my future teammates._

TBC/END

A/N: This ends here, actually. But I will maybe upload an epilogue.


End file.
